


It's Always Duckest Before Dawn

by Audrey_Lynne



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Because of course he is, Della has PTSD, Espionage, F/F, F/M, FM Technology - Freakin' Magic, FOWL (Ducktales) - Freeform, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Flashbacks, Gen, Honorary Duck Family Member Webby Vanderquack, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Science, Injury, Injury Recovery, Launchpad is part of the family too, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Major Character Injury, Mother-Son Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Della Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Recovery, Sacrifice, Sibling Love, Trauma, Webby's parents, but if i tagged it it's in there, mysteries that are not mysteries, shameless duck puns, some tagged ships don't show up until later chapters, there will be catchphrases, though not quite to the 'quack pack' extent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey_Lynne/pseuds/Audrey_Lynne
Summary: The McDuck/Duck Family and associates have been finding their new normal since Della's been home and, for once, things are going smoothly.  Sibling shenanigans abound.  They're prepared for the drama and danger of any adventure.What they were not prepared for was for tragedy to strike on a random Tuesday in an insultingly mundane fashion.  With Della's life hanging in the balance, everyone is a mess.  But Ducks don't back down...and nothing can stop Della Duck.  Then thingsreallyget interesting, because nothing can ever be simple with this family.
Relationships: ALL THE FAMILY TIES, Bentina Beakley & Della Duck & Donald Duck, Bentina Beakley & Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Launchpad McQuack & Webby Vanderquack, Bentina Beakley & Webby Vanderquack, Daisy Duck/Donald Duck, Della Duck & Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Della Duck & Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Della Duck & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Della Duck/Penumbra, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Louie Duck & Duck Family
Comments: 126
Kudos: 260





	1. Situation Normal: All Fowled Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This fic idea has been pestering me for months, and the new episodes have been a great kick-starter for my muse. I'll be updating the tags as characters and such appear in future chapters, both for spoilers and also to avoid getting carried away with tags but the plot spinning off in a different direction, as has happened to me before.
> 
> This is set at some nebulous point after the first few episodes in Season 3, and is intended to be canon-compliant up to that point. Who knows what the show is going to throw at us, though? (I, for one, welcome our new avian overlords.)

* * *

For years, Webby Vanderquack had longed for siblings. She knew why she didn’t have them, of course – and when she was old enough to understand the basics of how one gets siblings in the first place, she couldn’t help but think that she might have gotten them if her parents had lived long enough. It wasn’t something she let herself dwell on too often; she loved her life in the mansion and her Granny and the new family she’d found. She had _found_ brothers, even if she hadn’t had the chance to grow up with them. But sometimes she wondered if it was normal for siblings to interact the way Huey, Dewey, and Louie did…

From her research, Webby had gathered that brothers getting into physical altercations wasn’t uncommon. But, surely, the triplets took that to an entirely new extent. She knew how much they loved each other; she’d seen it on many occasions. But that love was a little hard to see at the moment as the three boys wrestled on the floor in front of her, limbs flailing. It was an indistinguishable blur of red, blue, green, and white, with the occasional foot making its way out before getting pulled back in again. Their voices were impossible to differentiate when reduced to grunts and non-verbal outbursts, and Webby sighed. “Guys? Guys!” She didn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about that started it, but Dewey had jumped on Huey. Then, when Louie had tried to separate them, he’d gotten sucker-punched and dove right in to exact his revenge. Webby knew better than to try to physically stop the rolling ball of rage and feathers, but that didn’t keep her from trying to reason with them. “This is ridiculous!”

After another few minutes, Huey either managed to extricate himself from the fray or was ejected from it; Webby wasn’t sure which. That left Dewey and Louie wrestling with each other, and after a moment, they paused, frowning at each other as if neither of them was sure which brother they were supposed to be fighting anymore. Louie let go of Dewey’s hair, Dewey untangled his arm from the strings of Louie’s hoodie, and they backed off. And Webby knew from experience that would be the end of it, save for perhaps a few mumbled apologies, if any of them had gotten scuffed up in the fight.

Webby was just about the change the subject and avoid reigniting anything when Della’s shouts could be heard from the second floor of the mansion, along with the distinct _clank_ of metal against hardwood floors, softening when she crossed a rug. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Angry quacks and the almost-incomprehensible shouting of Donald Duck followed, not quite clarifying what she might or might not have done, but at least why she was running.

She jumped onto the stair railing, sliding down the bannister in lieu of taking the stairs, repeating her apparent innocence – but she paused, briefly, to grin at her brood. “Oh, I _totally_ did it.” Cackling, she took off out the door and into the gardens, her brother taking the stairs three at a time and following her as he raged. He was also covered in splotches of purple paint, answering the question of what “it” was, if not how.

The triplets were giggling, cheerfully distracted from their own squabbles by watching their mother and uncle, and Webby had to suppress a smile. Perhaps she didn’t have a lot of experience with sibling relationships, but this was probably as close to “normal” as things got in the Duck family…

* * *

While the occasional break was welcome – and needed – the most recent stretch between adventures had started to drag, even by Louie’s standards. He’d occupied himself, though, as he did best…scheming. Huey had retreated to his old standby – Woodchuck stuff. Since the contest with Violet, he’d been both more driven and weirdly calmer about all of it. Louie wasn’t exactly a psychoanalyst, though, and Huey seemed to be doing all right, so he left it alone. The adults were occupying themselves with various activities as well. The only real problem was that Dewey and Webby had defaulted to _their_ backup hobby: finding mysteries in the mundane and solving puzzles that didn’t need solving. And, so, when Louie found a note on his pillow in Dewey’s handwriting that said, _“Meet us at the command center_ , _”_ he sighed and trudged downstairs to Webby’s bedroom.

When Louie arrived, Webby and Dewey were bouncing excitedly. Huey was perched on one of the crates Webby kept around for reasons only she knew, looking mildly curious. Louie hadn’t even managed to summon up that much enthusiasm. “This better not be ‘Scotty McDuck’ Part Two.”

“No, it’s even better!” Webby rubbed her hands together. “And, anyway, how was I supposed to know that was just one of Fergus McDuck’s old nicknames?”

“Oh, you guys are gonna love this.” Dewey grinned. “Get ready. This one’s personal! The question of the day is: ‘Who is Darcy P. Sterling?’” He punctuated the name with jazz hands, looking at his brothers expectantly. 

Louie groaned. “Annnnd I’m out.” He turned, about ready to leave, but stuck around to see Huey’s reaction.

Huey was not impressed, either. “Are we really doing this again?”

“But come on, guys,” Dewey encouraged. “Don’t you want to know?”

“Not even a little bit, actually.” Louie could admit to himself that he was, perhaps, vaguely curious, but certainly not enough to do any investigation into the matter. 

“For once, I’m with him.” Huey shrugged, hopping down from the crate. “Anyway, his name is on our birth certificates. We _know_ who he is.”

“Okay, then.” Dewey was not so easily deterred. “Maybe I could have phrased it differently. ‘Where is Darcy P. Sterling?’”

“ _Why_ is he? What is he?” Louie spread his hands. “I already know the answer! Not here!”

Dewey rolled his eyes. “Come on. You gotta admit, ‘Operation: Who’s Your Daddy?’ has a ring to it.”

Huey rolled his own eyes in response. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say he’s also _your_ father. Anyhow, Louie’s right. He clearly had no interest in being involved in our lives – and if Uncle Donald’s reaction the one time we asked about him is anything to go by, that’s by choice.”

Louie chuckled. “Yeah, we learned a whole _bunch_ of new words that day.”

Webby shrugged. “Aren’t you guys a little curious to find out what happened to your dad?”

“Nerp,” Louie replied, imitating Dewey. “Because he’s not our dad. Uncle Donald is our ‘dad,’ if we have one at all. That guy is just a gene donor. If he cared about us at all, he would have shown up after Mom went missing. Face the facts…dude hit it and quit it.”

Huey groaned. “ _Must_ you be so crass? But, seriously, now that Mom’s back, we could just ask her.”

“But maybe he broke her heart and it’s too painful to talk about.” Dewey clasped his hands over his chest dramatically.

Huey shook his head. “And we’ve seen how well avoiding talking about painful topics has gone in this family. If you really want to know, ask Mom. Or look him up online. There have _got_ to be better mysteries out there than this.”

Webby sighed. “Welp, looks like we’re back to the drawing board.”

“Yeah.” Dewey shrugged. “Can’t solve ‘em all, I guess.” He and Webby followed as Louie and Huey headed out of the room.

As they walked through the foyer, Della waved to them. “Hey, guys. I was just heading to the store. Anyone want to come?” It said something, Louie supposed, that she’d been back with them long enough now that this was just a normal question and they _weren’t_ afraid to let her out of their sight.

Huey shook his head. “No, thanks. I want to finish this article on advanced robotics in time for Gyro to look it over before I submit.”

Dewey had pulled out his phone and was typing quickly, motioning for Webby to join him. “Thanks, Mom, but I think I want to look into something.”

“Oh, then I am _definitely_ going.” If Dewey had taken Huey’s suggestion to look up their father online, that would at least keep him occupied, but Louie wanted no part of it. He’d decided long ago that if their biological father didn’t care about them, he didn’t care about him. Maybe Dewey felt differently and was using the cover of family mysteries for his investigation – though, really, Louie hoped his brother was just bored. For all the rough patches they’d had, the bumpy adjustment period, there really _had_ once been a hole in Louie’s heart where his mother belonged. But as far as his father was concerned, he meant what he’d said earlier; Uncle Donald was the only dad he needed. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

Della chuckled as the gates of McDuck Manor clanged shut behind them. “So what’s got you so eager to get out of the mansion?”

Louie shrugged. “Who says I need a reason to spend time with my mom?”

Della snorted. “As sweet as that is, what’s your angle?”

Well, she was talking his language, at least. “No angle – I swear. Dewey’s just on one of his pointless quests again and I don’t want to get dragged into it.”

“That’s fair.” Della nodded. “Anything I should know about?”

Louie shook his head. “Just our dad.” He didn’t think it would upset her, which was why he was willing to take the chance, but her reaction would tell him if pursuing this was a good idea. It would be so much easier to get the story from the source and just _tell_ Dewey so he’d hurry up and find some other non-mystery to investigate.

Della frowned. “Why? What about that loser?” Her eyes widened a bit as she seemed to second-guess herself. “I mean…okay, he’s not _entirely_ useless; he did give me you boys and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But…what about him?” She looked uncertain suddenly. “I mean…if you really want to know him, I guess I could track him down, but…”

“Oh, nonononononono!” Louie cut her off. “That is the exact opposite of what we want. Trust me.” At least as far as he and Huey were concerned. And he was reasonably sure that Dewey only cared about the challenge of the investigation. Hopefully, he’d lose interest once he had his answers. “You know how Dewey and Webby get when they’re bored.” Or maybe she didn’t, yet. “They start looking for secret plots anywhere. This is just low-hanging fruit.”

“Oh.” Della shrugged. “I mean, it’s fine. He could have just asked me.”

“That’s what we were _trying_ to tell him.” Louie rolled his eyes. “I swear, it’s like he thinks that’ll take the fun right out of it.” …or maybe Dewey did, and _that_ was why he was reluctant to ask. No matter. Louie was happy to ask for him and get this over with. “All we really know is his name.”

“Darcy,” Della muttered, shaking her head. “I met him in flight school; we had an on-and-off thing for years. I thought he was _so_ charming and attractive, with his posh accent. And he was, but he was also arrogant and self-centered…and he had this weird obsession with pigeons.” She made a face. “Never did find out what that was all about. Anyhow, we dated for a couple of months before I broke it off, but it was like a bad habit you just keep coming back to. At least until I told him we had eggs on the way. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.” She shrugged. “No loss. We don’t need him.”

Louie agreed – even more so than before he’d known anything about the guy. “You’re right.” Schemes were his lifeblood, though, and his eyes lit up as they paused at a crosswalk. “Darcy Sterling…sounds rich. _And_ it sounds like he owes you nearly twelve years of back child support…”

Della shook her head, but not in time to hide a tiny smile. “Oh, please. Our uncle is Scrooge McDuck. I don’t need the money.” Her expression fell for a moment. “And, besides, if anyone should get that, it’s your Uncle Donald.”

Louie sighed; he hadn’t meant to bring her down. But, surely, he could get her on board if he could put the right spin on it. “ _And_ , as your designated caregiver, he would be richly entitled to a generous portion of the funds.” The walk sign lit up and he started into the crosswalk ahead of her, gesturing dramatically as he set the scene. “A plucky single mother, lost in the name of space exploration…the sweet ducklings she left behind…”

“ _LOUIE_!” The way Della screamed his name was far from her standard interruption of his schemes; she sounded downright terrified. Louie turned to glance back at her – and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw why. A car was barreling toward the intersection, ignoring all traffic laws and lights. Suddenly, time felt as if it had slowed to a crawl. In a situation like this, there were only three real options: fight, flight, or freeze. Louie tended to prefer flight, but his traitor brain chose to freeze this time. As much as he was able to _realize_ he should have been running, dodging as if it were another adventure and another deathtrap, his body wouldn’t move. 

In the next moment, he was flying, having been grabbed by one arm and flung unceremoniously toward the sidewalk. He had no control over his trajectory, and time seemed to start again as he landed headfirst, a few inches short of the curb but out of danger. He could live with a little road rash on his cheek; it was certainly preferable to becoming one with that car’s tires. His senses returned to him in a rush and the overload of panicked shouts and horns blaring was nearly enough to disorient him again. 

“Ow.” Louie knew he was going to have one doozy of a headache; he could already feel it starting as he scrambled to his feet. “Thanks, Mom, that was—" The words stilled on his lips and a scream rose from his throat as he saw her lying in the street behind him. A set of tire tracks was the only sign of the car that hit her. “ _Mom_!” She’d saved him, but at what cost? He raced to her, the pain in his head forgotten. “Mom, please, don’t be dead, don’t be dead…” Blood was pooling under her at an alarming rate. “Mom! Mom, please, wake up!” A soft groan was Della’s only response, but that meant she was alive, and alive, Louie could work with. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked them back furiously, not wanting them to obscure his vision of her. 

First aid stuff…he should do some of that. Huey had taught them first aid, right? But, somehow, the great Junior Woodchuck Guidebook had left out how to remember first aid in a situation like _this_. He heard sirens, but his mind was too rattled to realize that meant help was on the way. This was on him. Stop the bleeding first, right? Yeah, he could do that… He tried to rip the pocket off the front of his hoodie, wanting something to press against the cut on her head, but the stitches were too strong to break easily and, before he could manage it, gentle hands pulled him away. He struggled in their grip. “No, let me go; that’s my _mom_!” But, as kind as it was, the hold was firm, and he watched as others with more level heads hurried to aid Della. And, so, Louie found himself sobbing in Officer Cabrera’s arms as emotion finally overwhelmed him. “That’s my mom…”

* * *


	2. Troubles by the Score

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos! Every single one makes me smile and motivates me to write even faster because you're such a lovely audience. Also, I'm very grateful to my friend Maria for helping me make the Spanglish lines feel more natural. <3 (And, no, not _every_ chapter title is going to be an avian pun...mostly because I've come up with a few so terrible even _I_ can't bring myself to make them.)

* * *

Diana Cabrera had been nearing the end of her shift when the hit-and-run call came over the radio. She and her partner were only a few blocks away, so they headed over in case their fellow officers needed help. As it turned out, the officers weren’t the ones most in need of assistance.

She’d seen a lot of terrible things in her career and had developed a thick skin, but children in need _always_ tugged at her heartstrings. She’d be lying if she said the situation didn’t bother her – as a mother herself, she knew she’d have done anything to protect her own son. No hesitation, not for her Fenton. But, seeing Louie’s tears as he desperately tried to help his mother, Diana instantly set aside her own feelings as Mama Mode activated. She scooped the traumatized duckling up, anticipating he’d fight her. And he did, until he saw the medics were there helping Della. And then Diana held the boy as he cried. 

“There, there, _mijo_ ,” she whispered, stroking the back of his head. “They’ll take good care of her.” She glanced at her partner and nodded for him to grab the squad car keys from her jacket pocket. Fortunately, they’d worked together long enough that their non-verbal communication was solid, and he moved to do so. There was no way Diana was leaving Louie’s side until she could hand him over to his family. And she wouldn’t let go of him until he wanted her to.

“M’ma?” When had Fenton gotten here? He was the only one other than Louie that Diana would spare any attention for. 

“ _Pollito_.” Diana managed a smile, for him, but it was shaky and she could see in Fenton’s eyes that he understood – and probably felt much the same. They both tried their best to protect others, but sometimes, that wasn’t enough. They couldn’t be everywhere at once. She headed for the car, still carrying Louie, who clung to her like a lifeline. He’d stopped crying, save the occasional sniffle, but still had his face buried in her shoulder. “I’m heading to the hospital. You want to come?”

Fenton surveyed the scene, then nodded. “I don’t think there’s much I can do here.”

They climbed into the back seat together. Diana shifted Louie just enough to buckle him in, but kept an arm around his shoulders. He leaned against her, staring at the floorboards.

“I got a threat alert from…” Fenton looked around as if to check to see if anyone was listening. “ _Ya sabes qué_. I didn’t know who was involved, but…I couldn’t get there in time. Not even with the suit.”

Under other circumstances, Diana might have rolled her eyes at his continued attempts to conceal Gizmoduck’s identity, but she merely nodded. “ _Si_. Sometimes this job sucks.” Officially, Fenton was a scientist, of course, but she was beginning to look at his part-time superhero persona as similar to her own career. And he was beginning to see the part she hated – those times when you wondered if you could have reacted faster, could have intervened sooner. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. This is no one’s fault but—”

“Mine,” Louie interrupted, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Oh, _mijo,_ no.” Diana shook her head, holding him as close as she could without unbuckling them both and pulling him back into her arms – and, frankly, she was tempted. “No, never. Your mama wouldn’t want you to think that way.”

Louie sniffled again, rubbing at his eyes as they filled with tears. “My mom might _die_ because I froze up.”

Diana squeezed his shoulder, gently turning his face toward hers. “Listen to me. If we could all control our reactions all the time, no one would ever have problems. Your mama is in good hands.” She wanted to promise him that Della would be fine, but she wouldn’t lie. “What she did, she did because she loves you – and any good mother would do anything to avoid seeing her baby hurt. _Anything_. Whoever was driving that car, that’s the _only_ person to blame…we’ll find them. I promise you that.” It wasn’t her case, but she was absolutely going to stay on top of it. The chief of police probably would, too, given that it involved Duckburg’s most prominent family. Diana didn’t care about that part. She just wanted to be sure this child and his mother would have justice, never mind their lineage. The moment she’d held Louie in her arms, it had become personal. 

Children in need _always_ tugged at her heartstrings.

* * *

One thing had been able to lure Dewey and Webby away from their latest quest – cookies. Mrs. Beakley was baking, and as soon as they’d caught the scent of her irresistible chocolate chip cookies in the oven, Dewey and Webby had hurried into the kitchen. Huey had joined them as well, and the kids were having a blast taste-testing the cookies as soon as they cooled, as well as being put to work helping with the next batch – oatmeal butterscotch. Dewey would have been skeptical of the combination if anyone but Mrs. Beakley herself had been behind the recipe.

“Ooh, can we do one more, Granny, please?” Webby asked, her eyes wide and excited. “The lemon shortbread?”

Mrs. Beakley chuckled softly, tousling Webby’s hair after drying her hands on a dish towel. “Oh, all right. But we’re getting a bit low on flour…”

“Oh, that’s all right!” Huey pulled out his cell phone. “Our mom’s at the store; I’ll call her and have her pick some up.”

“And that’s why you’re the brains of the outfit.” Dewey grinned, peering into the oven as he watched the latest batch bake, only to be shooed away by Mrs. Beakley – but she did put a batter-covered spoon into his hand as a consolation. He hopped onto a chair, licking the spoon as Huey left a message for their mother. “She didn’t pick up? Huh, weird.”

Huey shrugged. “Eh, she’ll call back. Louie’s probably trying to rope her into one of his schemes.”

That seemed likely. Dewey nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

Scrooge was the next one into the kitchen, smiling as he sniffed the air. “Do I smell oatmeal butterscotch biscuits?”

“Still in the oven,” Mrs. Beakley told him, but she grinned as she passed him one of the chocolate chip cookies. “This will have to do for now.”

“Well, all right, then…” Before he could take a bite, Scrooge’s phone rang. He set the cookie down on the counter and flipped his phone open. Gold or not, they really had to get him a newer phone, Dewey thought. “Scrooge McDuck speaking…” He frowned, clearly concerned by whatever he was hearing, making quiet noises of understanding. “Thank you. We’ll be right there.” As soon as he hung up, he stepped away from the counter, the cookie seemingly forgotten. He was upset, clearly – his left eye twitching gave him away, if nothing else – but he was calm. Too calm. That made things feel worse, somehow. “Bentina…get Launchpad, have him bring the car around, then meet me back here.” Webby gasped quietly, moving closer to her grandmother. Mrs. Beakley nodded, pausing only long enough to pick Webby up before she headed off in search of Launchpad.

Dewey hadn’t moved, unsure of what to do. Something was terribly wrong, and he was going to wait for instructions, which weren’t long in coming. Scrooge turned toward Huey and Dewey, but it was almost as if he were looking through them, not at them. “Lads, go get your uncle, please.”

Huey looked at Dewey, his eyes wide with concern, but they both nodded and began to move toward the door. Dewey felt Huey’s hand slip into his, and he squeezed back without bothering to tease his brother about being clingy. This was hardly the time…and, frankly, Dewey needed the support as well.

* * *

If there was one thing Donald Duck had learned not to trust, it was that a relaxing day would stay that way. He was always glad to be proven wrong – but, as the old saying went, it wasn’t paranoia when someone really was out to get you. In his case, that “someone” was generally a combination of the universe and his awful luck. He chuckled to himself as he tucked an old photo album back onto the shelf. “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.” The album had featured a number of less-than-flattering pictures of himself, of course, caught off-guard or at the worst of moments…most of them either taken by Della or featuring her laughing in the background. It had been gathering dust on the shelf, waiting for a time such as now…when those memories didn’t hurt to look at.

The door rattled shut as Huey and Dewey stepped in, looking like they’d seen a ghost – but if they had, they’d probably have been gleefully chasing it. Donald was instantly on high alert – and the fact that there was one triplet missing immediately had him concerned. “What’s wrong? Where’s Louie?”

“He’s at the store, with Mom.” Huey had released Dewey’s hand and was tangling his fingers together nervously. “I – we don’t know what’s wrong. Scrooge said to get you.”

Dewey nodded. “He’s really calm, like _creepy_ calm, and he was calling Beakley by her first name!”

“Oh, no,” Donald murmured, moving to hug the boys before taking each one by the hand and walking with them back toward the mansion. He knew _exactly_ the kind of calm Dewey was describing, and he could have counted the number of times he’d seen Scrooge like that on one hand. It had never been a good sign.

Later, he couldn’t have recalled Scrooge’s exact words as he told them about the phone call from the hospital. It was a blur of panic and rage, moving to comfort his crying kids, and screaming about exactly what he was going to do to the reckless driver who had hurt his family. He somehow managed to get from the kitchen to the car, feeling Huey and Dewey gripping his hands like a vice. 

Louie was physically all right; that was the only comfort in this nightmare. But, oh, he was going to need a lot of love and support to deal with the mental aspect. It would have been hard enough for any of them, but Donald knew that Louie was far more sensitive and insecure than he’d have ever wanted anyone to realize. 

And Della... This wasn’t how it ended for her. It couldn’t be. Della Duck was never meant to be taken down in a street accident, even if she had been saving her son. It was too _normal_. They’d just gotten her back; they couldn’t lose her now. Donald tried to remember the last words he’d said to her that morning after breakfast, before they’d wandered off to do their own things. _See ya later, Dell-Bell._ An old, silly nickname…a casual goodbye. But he could live with that if, stars forbid, they were the last words she’d ever hear him say. (His last words to her before she’d been lost on the moon still haunted him.)

As soon as they arrived at the emergency room, Scrooge was off to get an update – which Donald desperately wanted, but he could get that when Scrooge got back. He had other priorities. He knelt down to hug Huey and Dewey. “Stay here with Webby and Mrs. B. I’ll be right back; I’m going to find Louie.” They looked like they’d been about to protest until he explained he was going to get their brother, then they quickly returned the hug and nodded.

Fortunately, it didn’t take Donald long to find his boy; he was in the nearby waiting room with Officer Cabrera and Fenton. Donald gave the detective a grateful look as she transferred Louie into his arms. Louie made a noise of protest. “No, no doctors; I’m fi—Uncle Donald!” As soon as he saw who had him, Louie curled up against his uncle, crying so hard it shook his whole body. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry…”

“Shh, it’s not your fault.” They’d be fighting this battle for a while, Donald suspected, but he’d always be there to reassure Louie, and so would the rest of the family. They were in this together, no matter what the outcome. As terrified as Donald was for his sister, he could fall apart later. His kids needed him now. “Come on, let’s get you back to your brothers.”

* * *


	3. The Waiting Game

* * *

Della was in surgery, as the doctors hurried to patch up her internal injuries. And, in the waiting room, her family was left to deal with their emotional wounds. Of course, the ultimate outcome for those depended on _her_ outcome, but that wasn’t something they could control at the moment, so Donald tried not to focus on it. The kids were his primary concern, especially Louie. 

Emotional exhaustion was a different kind than most; it was bone-deep and soul-crushing. Everyone in their family – extended members included – had seen too much of it, even the kids. _Especially_ the kids. Louie hadn’t left his arms since Donald had found him. The poor kid had cried himself to sleep, but that was probably the best thing for him right now. Donald continued to hold him, rubbing his nephew’s back in hopes of keeping nightmares at bay.

It was still fairly early in the evening, but Webby’s and Dewey’s pacing and tears had worn them out as well. They’d climbed up onto one of the benches, sandwiching themselves between Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge, and had drifted off, cuddled up together.

As for Huey, he was using his phone to obsessively research all of Della’s injuries. Many adults would have tried to stop him – and, if it were Dewey or Louie, Donald might have been inclined to intervene. But that was just how Huey coped – and Donald also knew that Huey was savvy enough to only trust legitimate sources. Huey leaned against Donald’s side – they were sharing a chair – and occasionally filled them in on his more hopeful findings. “It says here that the most rapid recovery occurs within three months of a mild to moderate head injury, and most people are back to normal within six months. And post-traumatic amnesia that involves more than the day of the accident is actually very rare.”

Scrooge nodded, smiling weakly. He seemed to understand what Huey was doing, too. “Aye, lad. Your mum’s always been tougher than the toughies. If anyone can bounce right back from this, it’s her.”

Huey nodded, his grip tight on his phone. “Actually, the odds would have been _more_ stacked against her for blood loss and systemic infection when she crash landed on the moon – though the gravity might have been a factor; there aren’t exactly a lot of studies on that…” He trailed off, glancing back to the screen and typing quickly. 

It did say something for her chances, he supposed, but Donald didn’t particularly want to think about Della recovering from her injuries alone on the moon. Having to amputate her own leg to survive. For all his terrible luck, he’d survived his landing on both the moon and that desert island more-or-less intact. But he’d been told her prosthetic leg had also been the first point of impact in this accident; it was damaged pretty badly. It was repairable, especially with this family’s know-how, but if something made of rocket parts had taken such a hit…it might well have saved her life. Donald’s grip tightened on Louie, knowing that if Della hadn’t been quick enough to throw Louie clear, they’d have lost him. He was almost half her size and didn’t have the benefit of titanium and gold alloys to take the initial blow.

In an ideal world, both of them would have been fine. Della would have gotten them both out of the way. That driver would never have been on the road in the first place. They’d have been somewhere else entirely. As much as Donald hated every bit of this, if he had to choose between this anxious wait, when Della still had a chance, or holding her while they mourned her son…he’d take this. He’d have traded places with Della in a heartbeat, if he could – and, for once, he knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to make the same choice his sister had. She’d had a rocky path to figuring out motherhood, complicated by all the years she’d been away, but when it came down to protecting her family, nothing could stand in her way. Nothing ever had, even before the boys had come along. Donald had lost count of the number of times she’d hauled his feathers out of the fire…sometimes literally. He’d certainly returned the favor whenever possible. If this were the kind of danger they were used to, he might have been more at ease. Donald had used to think he wanted a “normal” life, but he’d come to realize he had no clue what that was. Like it or not, his family did not do ordinary, and that made this whole mess feel that much more insulting.

It was going to be a long night. As tired as he was, Donald knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d seen Della and could be sure that she was still with them. In the meantime, he let himself be comforted by the rise and fall of Louie’s chest against his, Webby’s and Dewey’s adorable little snores, and Huey’s muttering to himself as he read another article. They’d get through this – and, as always, they’d do it together.

* * *

Scrooge McDuck had never liked hospitals. As institutions, he supported them, of course. He donated to their fundraisers under the charitable arm of McDuck Enterprises. But, on a personal level, hospitals meant waiting rooms, which meant trouble and situations out of his control. He wasn’t good with those. Not to mention, it brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories of the night his sister and her husband had died and he’d been left trying to process his own feelings on top of having to tell two four-year-old ducklings their parents were never coming home.

For years, that had been the worst night of his life. It had been replaced as such a little over twenty years later, when the door had slammed behind Donald and Scrooge had been left alone to stare at those blasted words, _Transmission Lost._ This night was definitely in the top five already, though its final ranking would of course depend on the outcome. It could have been much worse, though, and Scrooge had to remind himself of that as he watched Louie sleeping restlessly in Donald’s arms.

At least he had something he hadn’t had before – pleasant memories he could focus on and console himself with. When Hortense and Quackmore had died, Scrooge had been overwhelmed with the sudden responsibility of raising their twins, whom he’d only met in passing a few times prior. When Della was lost, he’d been too consumed with guilt, fear, and anger to think about anything else. Now he had hope that they could ride this storm out and thrive on the other side of it.

Scrooge glanced up as Launchpad returned from the hospital cafeteria, setting the snacks he’d grabbed for the kids on a nearby table. He nodded gratefully as a cup was pressed into his hand, then passed it to Donald. “Thank you, Launchpad. Hopefully, hospital coffee has improved somewhat in recent years.”

Launchpad held up another cup. “I got him one, too.”

“And I’m sure he’ll need more.” Scrooge appreciated the gesture, but he’d never cared much for coffee, and he doubted the hospital’s tea would be to his specifications either.

“Oh, I will,” Donald agreed.

Scrooge glanced around. They were probably quite the sight to the casual observer, all of them huddled together like this. He was glad Launchpad and Beakley had decided to stay, though he knew he’d probably have needed a cattle prod to chase them off. Family was more than just blood, after all. 

As much hope as he had this time, Scrooge couldn’t help but consider worst-case scenarios. It was in his nature. If the worst did happen – if they actually lost Della – they had one adult available to handle each of the children. Group hugs were always welcome, of course, but these kids were impulsive under the best of conditions and there was a strong possibility they might attempt to run off. Donald _had_ , the night of his parents’ accident, and it had taken Scrooge two very tense hours to find him. Beakley would get Webby, Launchpad would probably grab Dewey, Scrooge could watch Huey, and it would probably take a crowbar to get Louie out of Donald’s arms. As he thought of it, Scrooge realized it was probably good to have the extra hands even in a best-case scenario; the kids were also nothing if not creative and they’d probably be eager to pile in and see Della.

Scrooge smiled softly as he let himself think of those first few days as an uncle-slash-parent. He’d had no idea what he was doing, and he knew he’d never have managed to figure it out without Beakley and Duckworth guiding him. But, some moments, he’d been left to deal with on his own…

_Scrooge had been quite happily dreaming – about Goldie, though he’d be reluctant to admit that part if asked – when he was awakened by the world’s tiniest massage artist pawing at his shoulder. As he cracked his eyes open, he realized that it was not, in fact, a miniature masseuse, but his young niece. She was in her pajamas, sitting on his bed and staring at him as she poked. “Unca Scrooge!” Della fortunately seemed to have been spared Donald’s speech impediment – but, being four years old, she still had her own way of pronouncing certain words. Scrooge had begun to find it cute…when it wasn’t two in the morning._

_“What do you want?” Scrooge tried not to sound short with the girl – he’d found that scared the children – but he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep._

_“Can I sleep with you?” Della’s eyes were wide and begging. “I saw a ghost!”_

_In his mansion, that wasn’t entirely unlikely – but again, Scrooge had to curb his first instinct, which was to offer a curt no and show her the door. “Can’t you go sleep with your brother?”_

_Della frowned. “He wiggles too much.”_

_“Oh, fine,” Scrooge grumbled. Della wiggled quite a bit in her sleep too, which was why he was reluctant to let her into his bed, but if it would get her to settle, he’d do it. He’d already learned how persistent she could be, and they might end up negotiating until dawn otherwise. He pulled the blanket back, making a half-hearted attempt to tuck her in as she settled against the pillow next to his. “Go to sleep. This room is ghost-proof.” Well, other than a certain three spirits he hosted every Christmas, but she didn’t need to know about that. He settled back down as well, closing his eyes. Della shifted beside him, and he sighed, but when she leaned over and kissed his cheek, it melted his heart._

Scrooge had learned two things that night: he absolutely wasn’t going to get any sleep when either of the twins sought out the comfort of his bed, but he also wouldn’t be able to deny them when they asked. As they’d gotten older, they’d asked less, until they stopped entirely. As much as Scrooge had been glad to have the sanctity of his bed back, a small part of him missed it. 

When the doctor stepped into the waiting room, Scrooge was quick to analyze everything – her gait, her expression – as he tried to prepare himself for whatever news she brought. He was about to jump up, but seeing the group gathered, she came to them. _That bodes well,_ he thought.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Parvenu.” She wasn’t the same one Scrooge had gotten the first update from, and he honestly didn’t care about name until she told him how Della was, but he waited impatiently while they got the niceties out of the way. She listed several of the things they already knew about – head trauma, internal injuries, broken ribs…Scrooge was trying to find the most polite way to break in and tell her to cut to the chase when she said the only thing he’d be hoping to hear. “She’s still critical, but she’s got a fighting chance.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Scrooge nodded. “When can we see her?”

“We’re getting her settled now; it’ll just be a few minutes,” Parvenu answered. She looked them over again, smiling. “You’ll have to take turns, though. And the children…they’re all at least twelve, right?”

“Actually, they’re not quite –” Suddenly, Scrooge recalled seeing a sign that mentioned children had to be at least twelve to visit, and he nodded. “They’re twelve.” Close enough, anyway.

Parvenu returned the nod, clearly happy he’d taken her hint. “I thought so. I’ll send a nurse out as soon as we’re ready for you.”

* * *


	4. All Ducks on Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for your kudos, comments, and support! <3 I'm so glad you're enjoying my self-indulgence.

* * *

It wasn’t exactly a secret that it was rare for Donald and Scrooge to agree on anything – at least not without some negotiation before getting there – but they did have their moments. They both felt it was best for Louie to see his mother as soon as possible. As frightening as her condition might be for the kids – for all of them, really – she was alive, and that was the important thing. 

Donald shook Louie awake gently. “Hey, sleepyhead.” He tried to keep the same light tone he’d used to rouse the boys in the morning for years.

Louie shook his head, blinking tiredly, then jolted. “Mom?!” He looked around wildly, his eyes darting around as if he were trying to analyze everyone’s expressions for news.

Donald rubbed Louie’s shoulder, trying to soothe him. “She’s a fighter.” Her injuries were bad, worse than any of the scrapes he’d seen her in before. But there was still hope, and while he had a natural tendency toward pessimism, Donald believed Della could get through this. She had her family at her side and a lot to live for. “Did you want to see her?” He hoped it would help, but at the same time, he didn’t want to force Louie if he wasn’t ready.

Louie nodded tearfully. “Can we?”

“Of course.” Donald hugged him. “We have to take turns, but I’ll go with you.” Though he set Louie down, he still held his nephew’s hand tightly and was ready to pick Louie up again in a heartbeat if needed. The nurse showed them to the room, and Donald paused outside the door, taking a moment to prepare Louie – and himself, if he was being honest. “She’s not awake yet and there’s still a machine helping her to breathe. It might be a bit scary, with all the equipment and monitors. But you can touch her and talk to her.”

Louie nodded, looking uncertain. “Can she hear us?”

Donald didn’t know for sure, of course, but he’d been knocked around enough over the years to know that hearing was one of the last senses to go. “It’s possible. I like to think so.” Even if she couldn’t process the exact words in this state, he hoped it would let Della know she wasn’t alone.

“Okay.” Louie looked every bit the eleven-year-old boy he was, his eyes wide as he reached out for his uncle. Donald picked him up, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way and stepped into the room.

Della looked paler than usual, and Donald winced at the bruises that decorated her face, the rust-colored specks of blood around the scrapes and stitches on her arms. He tried to focus on something else, like how much she’d have _hated_ the tube that was down her throat, helping her breath; if she’d have been awake, she’d surely have pulled it out by now. There was a chair next to the bed and Donald sat down with Louie in his lap, lowering the top rail so that there was no barrier between Della and them. He reached out, taking Della’s hand in his. It was still, but warm. The ventilator’s soft hiccupping noises as, even unconscious, Della fought its breathing pattern and insisted on setting her own, reminded Donald that she still had every chance to survive this. “C’mon, Del, relax.” He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, and her breathing began to slow into an easy rhythm. “There you go.”

Louie had been alternating between staring at his mother and watching Donald intently, and he seemed to take his cue from his uncle, placing a cautious hand on her arm. “Hey, Mom…” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. If I’d been paying attention, or moved faster…” 

Donald knew this was something they’d be dealing with for a while. He used his free hand to rub Louie’s back. “Hey, hey…if she was awake, she wouldn’t blame you, and neither do we. It was an accident, that’s all. A lousy accident.” Privately, he made a note to himself to ask Neighbor Jones if he knew any therapists that were good with children.

Louie nodded, sniffling. He didn’t look convinced, but he stopped apologizing, wriggling forward until he was partially on the mattress so that he could press his face against Della’s side. He didn’t appear to be disturbing any of the medical equipment, so Donald let him. Louie stayed like that for a couple of minutes before retreating to Donald’s lap, though he reached out to touch Della’s arm again. “Thanks, Mom. I…I love you.”

Donald had heard Louie had the hardest time adjusting to Della’s return, and if he’d ever let himself dare to hope that she _would_ come back, he would have predicted that. Louie didn’t always take change in stride the way his brothers did. If he found a situation too overwhelming, he withdrew, covering it with casual breeze. To bond with Louie, you had to prove yourself and wait his insecurities out. Della, with her penchant for greeting challenges head-on, wouldn’t have known that. She’d done exactly as Donald would have guessed she’d do – charge right into it, scaring Louie away. Fortunately, time and the process of getting to know each other had repaired the damage. Della had gained his trust, slowly but surely, and she had come to recognize his own brand of seeing the angles for what it was. Louie had been the one to talk her through her fears about facing the Moonlanders, because he understood _why_ she was so scared. And, while Donald knew Louie had no doubts now about how much his mother loved him, how much she was willing to risk for him, he would do all that he could to keep Louie from withdrawing out of guilt and fear. Donald was sure they’d get through this and be even closer for it in the end…though there were many far more pleasant situations that could have strengthened their bond. He shifted in the chair, releasing Della’s hand so that he could hold Louie close. “She loves you, too, buddy. We all do.”

Louie nodded, snuggling into the embrace before his gaze fixed on Della again. When he glanced away after a moment, staring at his hands, Donald could tell that it was beginning to get a bit overwhelming. Louie probably wasn’t going to admit that, so Donald intervened. “You ready to go back?”

Louie nodded, giving Donald a grateful look. “Yeah…we should let the others come see her.”

“Good idea.” Donald picked up Della’s hand again, squeezing it gently. “Love you, Dells. We’ll see you soon.”

* * *

Huey was sure his research had prepared him to see what Della was going to look like, but he quickly discovered that there was no comparison between photos of strangers on the internet and seeing his mother like that. He pressed closer to Scrooge’s side, feeling his uncle’s arm wrap around him in return.

Scrooge sat down, reaching out to gently stroke Della’s cheek. “Oh, Della-girl…you’re going to get through this just fine. If anyone can, it’s you.”

Huey could only recall a handful of times he’d seen Scrooge this tender, and he climbed into Scrooge’s lap to be closer to his mother. It wasn’t as frightening once he got used to it, seeing each piece of equipment and reminding himself of what it was for. His research hadn’t been for naught. “Hey, Mom.” He curled his fingers around hers, letting the feel of her hand in his ground him. He felt Scrooge’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him as well. “So, everything I read says you’re gonna be all right. You just need time, and it’ll all be okay…right?” He looked up at Scrooge, not sure if he was looking for reassurance, clarification, or something else entirely.

“Aye, lad.” Scrooge nodded, squeezing Huey’s shoulder. “Your mum’s never let anything stop her before. She won’t start now.”

* * *

Launchpad didn’t really understand everything that was going on – which, to be fair, was a common state of affairs for him. He was used to it. But this was his family and he was going to be there for them in whatever way he could.

His own feelings were difficult to sort out. He hadn’t known Della long, but he admired her skills – even if they occasionally disagreed on the best way to handle airplanes. And he _might_ have developed a tiny bit of a crush on her, but that wasn’t unusual for him, either. He was weak for attractive, accomplished women. And occasionally men. And sea creatures of indeterminate gender.

Rather than attempt to untangle what was going on in his own mind, Launchpad focused on the bigger issue. His best friend needed him and that was the most important thing at the moment. Dewey had woken up right after Scrooge and Huey had gone in to see Della, and he was pacing in circles around Launchpad, a bundle of nervous energy with no place else to go.

“Hey.” Launchpad didn’t try to stop him – he’d found it was best to let Dewey get it out of his system – but he did want to offer some comfort. “Your mom’s pretty awesome. She’s tough, and smart, and pretty – I mean, pretty _cool_.” He caught himself just in time. There were bad times to tell a friend you thought their mom was attractive and there were _really_ bad times. This seemed like the latter.

Dewey did stop pacing, looking at Launchpad incredulously. “Did you just say you think my mom is hot?” He didn’t seem upset; in fact, he laughed. “Oh, man. You two would…I mean…” He put a hand to his face, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just –”

“No, no, I get it.” Launchpad wasn’t bothered in the least. If anything, getting Dewey to laugh was worth it. He might not have been the smartest bird around, but he knew enough to realize he wasn’t Della’s type and he was okay with that. He was happy enough to be her friend, now that she seemed to have accepted him. “There are other fish in the sea.”

Dewey flopped down on the chair next to Launchpad. “I can’t _believe_ we’re having this conversation, right now of all times…wait, you know what? I totally can. Just another day of Duck Family weirdness.” He was still practically vibrating with anxiety, though, and he frowned as he looked up at Launchpad. “That’s all this is gonna be, right? In a few months, we’ll all be back to normal and this is just one more bad day we got through?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Launchpad didn’t know what else to say, but as Dewey hugged him, maybe he didn’t have to say anything else. He returned the hug, glancing up as he saw Huey and Scrooge returning to the waiting room. “You ready to go see her?”

Dewey nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Launchpad offered Dewey his hand as he got to his feet. “Okay, let’s do it. Or should I say... _Dew_ it?” The laugh he got out of Dewey made the borrowed catchphrase totally worth it.

* * *

Dewey was thankful to have Launchpad with him; it made him feel like he had to keep up less bravado to keep from worrying his brothers or his uncles. They had enough to worry about. He didn’t like any of this, but at the same time, Dewey didn’t need Huey’s analytical skills to guess that Louie’s odds of survival would have been much lower without Della’s intervention. This could have been even worse and that was a terrifying thought. His mom being hurt was awful, but to think of losing his brother… 

As much as Dewey thrived on chaos, this was the wrong kind of chaos. This wasn’t the thrill of the chase or living for the moment. And it wasn’t even something that would make a great story later. It was just one of those things everybody wanted to put behind them.

The first thing Dewey was surprised by was how quiet the room seemed. There were little noises, here and there, but movies and TV had led him to believe hospital rooms were much louder, filled with constant beeping. He supposed that would never let anyone get any rest, though. He scrambled up into the chair to get a better look at his mother. Honestly, the only thing that kept him from climbing over the bed rail and cuddling up beside her until she woke up and told him for herself that she was going to be okay was his fear of messing something up or hurting her. He settled for taking her hand instead, holding it against his chest. He was as speechless as he’d been the first moments he’d seen her, both in that old painting and when she’d walked through the front door after so long. As much as he wanted to say the perfect thing, his eyes teared up and “perfect” was left in the dust. He was left with what felt real – and that wasn’t so bad, actually. “Hang in there, Mom. We’re all with you.” He wiped away his tears, feeling Launchpad’s hand on his back, supporting him. 

Somehow, Dewey found himself humming the old lullaby Uncle Donald used to sing him and his brothers every night. The lullaby their mother wrote for them, as they later found out. It was something she’d been able to leave with them, even as she’d been stranded on the moon. He wasn’t sure he could manage to sing it without falling apart completely, but he continued to hum the song as he held Della’s hand tightly. If she could hear it, maybe it would comfort her the way it used to comfort them.

* * *

Beakley had spent so long in the spy game that she was used to being addressed by either her code number or her last name and little else. She’d rather grown to appreciate it, leaving her first name in a world that belonged to _other_ names she had come to know and adore – Mama, Granny. Scrooge was one of those rare denizens of both worlds, a former partner and a dear friend. He was welcome to call her by her first name if he liked, but there were only a few situations where he ever did – if he was upset and reaching for the solace of their friendship, if he was particularly concerned about her, or the odd third situation where he was at such loose ends he didn’t really know what else to say.

As Dewey and Launchpad visited Della, Scrooge leaned in and put a hand on Beakley’s arm. “How are you holding up, Bentina?”

His tone and expression suggested that he was more worried about her than looking for comfort, and she frowned. “I’m fine. Why would you worry about me?” She cared about Della; of course she did. But Scrooge had raised the girl. If anything, she should be asking him that question. 

Scrooge’s smile was gentle, if a little sad. “You’ve got that look about you again. Like you’re thinking about Eliza.”

Beakley appreciated that he was one of the few who didn’t avoid saying her daughter’s name out loud. She knew people were trying to spare her any pain, but the pain would be there regardless. The circumstances of Eliza’s death had been terrible and violent, but to avoid speaking of her felt like pretending she’d never existed. “I think about her all the time. Especially now, as Webby gets older.” She looked around the waiting room. “I never got this when I lost Eliza. Sometimes I wonder if that would have been better or worse. A bit of hope, to lessen the blow?” She was suddenly aware of how fatalistic she sounded. “Not that – I mean, we have every reason to believe Della’s going to come through this just fine.”

Scrooge nodded. “It’s all right; I understand.”

Beakley sighed. Recent adventures had brought a lot of things to the forefront of her mind and sitting here in this hospital waiting room had been just the right circumstances for it to brew. “I know I promised Webby I wouldn’t lie to her anymore. And, really, for the most part, now that she knows I don’t share her boundless optimism about the world…I don’t intend to. But then she asks questions about Eliza and Richard, and there are things I still don’t know.” It wasn’t fair to dump this on him when he was already stressed about Della, but at the same time, she knew Scrooge wouldn’t let it go until he was satisfied she was being honest with him. “Most of the evidence was destroyed in the fire.”

“It’s not lying if you really don’t know,” Scrooge assured her.

“I know.” That part, she didn’t feel as bad about. “But you’ve seen how she is with even the hint of a mystery. If she gets curious enough about that last mission, the parts I can’t fill in…” Webby was still sleeping in her lap, and she stroked the duckling’s hair. “Even before I retired, I couldn’t get all the answers. It’s too dangerous for her to try. If I lost her too, I couldn’t bear it. I _want_ to be honest, but if I have to lie to keep her safe, I will.” Losing her beloved daughter and her son-in-law at the same time had been hard enough; she’d coped by focusing on the little girl they left behind. 

Scrooge looked sympathetic, but he smiled. “Fortunately, yours aren’t the only eyes on her.”

Beakley scoffed, unable to resist teasing him to lift both their spirits. “Right, because you were so adept at stopping her from joining you to face Black Heron.”

He snorted at her. “Is it _my_ fault you trained the wee bairn too well?”

As Beakley chuckled, Webby began to stir. She blinked sleepily. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Mr. McDuck and I were just talking.” Beakley patted Webby’s cheek fondly. 

“About what?”

“How clever you are.” That, at least, was no lie. “And how much we love you.”

“Aw, Granny.” Webby grinned, throwing her arms around Beakley’s neck and hugging her tightly. “I love you too.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Beakley saw Dewey and Launchpad returning to the waiting room. Webby caught it too and hurried over to check in with Dewey. After a brief exchange, and hugging him, she returned, climbing into her grandmother’s lap. “Can we check in on Della, too?”

“Of course, dear.” Beakley wanted to see her as well. She also hoped that, after the initial visits, they could at least get the children home to sleep in proper beds while the adults worked out who’d stay at the hospital. Finding order in chaos, that was what she did. It was how she survived. She stood, taking Webby’s hand. “Let’s go.”

* * *


	5. Mommy's Little Rebel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus time! But, hey, more time for us fanfic writers to get some work done before we get jossed by canon, right? (I'm trying to look on the bright side, here.) As always, thank you all so much for your support!

* * *

Convincing the kids to leave the hospital had been easier said than done, but Donald had backed up Beakley’s suggestion immediately. It would be better for the kids to spend the night in their own beds, and as reluctant as he was to leave the hospital himself, he knew that the boys probably wouldn’t go unless he did. Donald had made Scrooge promise multiple times to call him the second anything changed, then he and Beakley shepherded the kids back to the car.

It had been Scrooge’s idea to give the triplets Donald and Della’s old room. At the time, Donald had chalked it up to the old man being stuck in his ways, but now he suspected there had been a hint of nostalgia behind the decision. The same old dents were still in the walls – with new ones joining them, of course – and Donald smiled as he looked around the room, seeing the little touches each of the boys had brought to it. Any other night, they might have protested that they were getting too old to be tucked in – though they’d probably have allowed it – but there were no such complaints now.

Normally, Louie wasn’t overt about it when he was feeling clingy, but he had been since Donald had been reunited with him at the hospital, understandably. He frowned a little as his brothers climbed into their bunks, arms wrapped around himself as he sat on his bed. “Where are you sleeping, Uncle Donald? The houseboat?”

It was an innocent enough question, but Donald knew his boy well enough to interpret the deeper, hidden meaning: _I don’t want you to go._

Dewey clearly read into it too, giving Louie a sympathetic look, but then grinning. “Hey, Uncle Donald, maybe we could all sleep there tonight? Unless our room hasn’t been fixed from the last time it got torn up…”

It had – that was usually the first room Donald fixed, once the structure was stable – but Donald had to admit, there was a certain security about being here, in _this_ room, he hadn’t felt in years. But the boys had grown up on the houseboat, so maybe that was the comfort they were looking for? He was debating his choice when Huey hopped down from the top bunk, diving under Louie’s bed in search of something.

“A Junior Woodchuck is always prepared!” Huey emerged from under the bed with an inflatable mattress package in his hands. “You could stay here tonight, if you like!” 

Dewey shrugged. “That works.” He clambered down from his bed to Louie’s, not using the ladder and nearly landing on Louie as a result. “What do you say?” He looked from Louie to Donald and back again.

Louie shrugged. “It’s up to Uncle Donald, I guess.” 

There was a quiet plea in Louie’s eyes, despite his casual words, and Donald had never been able to deny the boys anything like this. Even in the houseboat, when quarters had been cramped, he’d found himself sleeping on the floor in their room more than once. He hadn’t wanted to be far from them tonight, anyhow. “Okay.”

Huey and Dewey bounced around in celebration, while Louie nodded in satisfaction, but there was a tiny smile on his lips. Donald would take _any_ smile at this point. Louie would pretend to be all right until he wasn’t. Donald was on constant alert for that, and in the meantime, he’d do all he could to remind Louie that his family was there for him and how much he was loved. The scrape on Louie’s face was a stark reminder of how differently this day could have ended.

The air mattress was blown up quickly, and Donald quickly found an extra pillow and blanket by the door. He could have sworn hadn’t been there before - probably Duckworth’s doing. He tucked each of the boys into bed, then settled down on the mattress next to their bunk beds. He really _was_ exhausted, and with his phone within reach in case of news, he was able to drift to sleep.

* * *

It wasn’t unusual for Donald to awaken with the first light of the morning – he’d been an early riser since his Navy days – but he didn’t move to get up as he might have otherwise as soon as he felt three small bodies against his. Without looking, it was harder to identify who was who, but there were still little tells. The footie pajamas against his left side – that was Dewey. The stocking cap pressed against his right side...Huey. So that meant Louie was the one draped across Donald’s legs, using his hips as a pillow. He smiled, closing his eyes again and treasuring the moment. It wouldn’t hurt to stay in bed a little while.

Even with as comfortable as he was, Donald’s mind was still on full alert, and he heard footsteps coming down the hall – Beakley, he determined, as she got close enough. The door to the room opened and closed again a moment later, and while Donald had never doubted that she would check on them, he still appreciated it. He could have also sworn he heard a camera click… A few second later, his phone chirped with a message and he glanced at the screen, in case it was Scrooge – but, no, it was Beakley, sharing the photo before he had to ask. He smiled, relaxing against the air mattress again, soothed by the boys’ presence.

The calm lasted nearly a half hour, when Donald’s phone began to ring – and it _was_ Scrooge. Donald scrambled to grab it, accidentally depositing Huey and Dewey onto the floor and launching Louie into the air. Donald nudged Louie so he’d at least land on the mattress, giving the triplets an apologetic look as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Donald.” Scrooge sounded weary; Donald doubted he’d slept much, if at all. But there was hope in his tone. “She’s awake.”

* * *

As awkward and alarming as it was to be awakened by being tossed into the air, it said something about their lives that Louie was almost used to it. He bounced off the air mattress and was about to protest for the sake of it, but then he saw Donald answering the phone. His brothers saw it too, and they huddled together, waiting for news.

“She is?” At least Donald looked happy; that was a good sign. “That’s great! We’ll be there soon!” He turned to the boys, smiling. “Your mom’s awake!”

Huey and Dewey cheered, and Louie smiled – genuinely. He was happy to hear any good news, even if his fears were never far away. As he and his brothers got dressed so they could head back to the hospital, however, those fears came creeping back in. Despite his family’s assurances to the contrary, what if Della _did_ blame him now that she was awake? He’d thought they were finally figuring each other out, after the Moon invasion, but had this undermined all that? Even if she didn’t blame him directly, what if there were lasting effects from the accident, ones she’d forever associate with him? He sat on his bed as his brothers chattered happily, pulling his hood up and tucking his arms inside the pocket. He wasn’t so dramatic as to think he’d be cut off from the family – maybe in his nightmares, but he could talk himself through that one while awake. Still, he _wanted_ what Huey and Dewey seemed to have found with their mother. When he first held her jacket in the gloomy dungeons of Castle McDuck, he’d longed for that person he’d never known. But wanting and having were very different things, he’d discovered, and when she’d walked back into their lives, he was struck with the realization that he had no idea what having a mom was supposed to be like. They’d been learning, together, even if it had been a bit of a rollercoaster. She hadn’t hesitated to protect him from the Gilded Man – had that been a predictor of their future relationship? A lifetime of her having to save his tail feathers? Was he just like Gladstone in the end – coasting by on luck, occasionally at the misfortune of others?

Donald’s hand on his shoulder reoriented him. Seconds later, Louie felt Huey and Dewey each press against one of his sides. Any other time, Louie might have rolled his eyes and pretended to barely tolerate the affection, but he knew he was so far beyond looking cool at the moment that there was no point in even trying. He gave in, allowing himself to enjoy the cuddles.

* * *

Scrooge was no stranger to long nights; he might have dozed off once or twice, but for the most part, he’d been keeping watch at Della’s bedside, making sure that if she did wake up, she wouldn’t be alone. She’d begun to stir a little after dawn, finally blinking her eyes open and looking around in confusion. Scrooge had been quick to reassure her, but not quick enough to stop her from grabbing the breathing tube and yanking it out. 

The nurse looked almost amused as she examined Della after the alarming ventilator had called her to the room before Scrooge could. “Well, we’d wanted to let your lungs rest a bit longer, but you’re breathing well enough…” She shook her head. “Just leave taking anything else out to us, okay?”

“M’fine,” Della insisted, her voice nearly as raspy as Donald’s.

The nurse nodded. “Yes, of course you are. I’m impressed you didn’t tear up your vocal cords entirely with the way you ripped that tube out.” Despite her gentle scolding, she was still smiling. “I realize that this is the last place anyone wants to wake up, but try to rest. You’ve still got a lot of medication on board. It can really make you underestimate your injuries.”

Scrooge snorted fondly. “She’d probably do that with or without medication.” Della shot him a look, but she was blinking heavily, and that medication plus her injuries seemed to be weighing on her. He leaned forward, taking her hand. “You gave us quite a scare, lass. Listen to the lady and take it easy.”

“Louie?” she asked, her fingers curling around his hand.

“He’s fine, thanks to you.” Physically, at least. They could deal with the rest together, and Scrooge was sure Della’s recovery would only aid in that. “Donald and Mrs. Beakley took the kids home to sleep. They’ll be here soon.” He knew that as soon as they heard Della was awake, wild horses wouldn’t be able to keep them away. He reached for his phone. “I just need to call them. Your brother would have my head if I didn’t update him right away.” As soon as Donald picked up, he could hear the anxiety in his nephew’s tone – but just as surely, it melted away with the news that Della was awake. “They’re on their way,” he assured Della, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. It had always calmed her when she was a child, something he’d seen Donald do to settle her and soon learned to copy. The gesture had a similar effect now, as she settled back against the pillows, her eyes closing again. Scrooge was sure she’d be sleeping on and off throughout the day, but sleeping was better than unconsciousness; they could deal with that. The doctors had said a big indicator of if she’d have any lasting effects from her head injury was would be how soon she came around, and Scrooge was willing to take positive signs wherever he could find them. As Della tried to force her eyes back open, he squeezed her hand again. “Shh, now, don’t fight it. We’ll be here when you wake up, lass.”

* * *

During the time she’d been stranded on the moon – and, if she was completely honest, a few times after – Della had a recurring nightmare that, somehow, her eggs were on the Spear of Selene alone when it had been accidentally launched into space. The dream had a few variations – the eggs smashing against the consoles during launch and cracking, the babies surviving but hatching alone and becoming moon mite food, or the variation where Huey (though she’d been thinking of him as Jet) improbably cracked his arms and legs through the shell and learned to fly the rocket. Looking back, she’d at least nailed his personality.

There was a less-terrifying companion dream she’d also had, though not quite as often, where she’d taken the eggs with her and her kids had been raised on the moon. “Jet’s” personality had been the closest, basically Huey without the anxious streak, but she’d certainly been wrong about the youngest triplet. “Mommy’s little Rebel,” she’d called him. He’d been sweet and sensitive, never far from her side – and while “sweet” and “sensitive” could certainly describe Louie, it was in a far different way than she’d pictured. He didn’t wear it on his sleeve. Louie been the hardest to bond with and she was still unsure of where she stood with him sometimes.

It probably wasn’t the best idea to try to think about anything too deeply while she was heavily drugged; staying awake was enough of a challenge. Still, Della saw Louie’s reluctance as Donald brought him in to visit her and she frowned. Was he mad at her? She was unspeakably relieved to see that he was all right; seeing him moments away from getting hit by that car was sure to become a nightmare of its own later. But what was going on in his head?

“Mom?” 

Della held her breath as he spoke, and she held her hand out toward him. It hurt to speak – and she was sure a lot more would be hurting once the fog wore off from her mind – but she just wanted to touch him, to make sure _this_ wasn’t a dream before she woke up to tragedy.

“Hey.” With encouragement from Donald, Louie stepped closer, taking her hand. She watched him cock his head and withdraw slightly and she realized she must have been frowning still. “…are you mad at me?”

He was worried _she_ was mad at _him_? “Oh, baby, no.” Talking was an effort, but she’d make it for him. “Of course not. M’just glad…you’re okay.”

“See?” Donald asked, putting a hand on Louie’s shoulder. “I told you.”

Louie laughed through the tears that quickly began to fill his eyes, looking from his uncle to his mother. “You kind of sound like Uncle Donald.” 

Della smiled – she’d heard herself; he wasn’t wrong – but before she could think up a reply, he leaned forward, hugging her fiercely as he sobbed into her shoulder. She draped her arm over his back, lacking the strength to hold him as tightly as she wanted, but letting him cry. She’d cried a _lot_ over the last decade – and, sometimes, it could be healing.

After a few minutes, Louie’s tears eased, though he didn’t pull away. She left her arm where it was, happy to have him close. Louie was a very different child than the Rebel she’d dreamed of, but she loved him just the same. Even more so, now that she loved a person and not an idea. Though, down deep, Della still thought her original name suited him. “My Rebel,” she murmured as she closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t stay awake much longer. When she felt Louie laugh against her shoulder as Donald allowed that it was maybe okay as a nickname, she had a feeling that things were going to work out in the end.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to draw Egg-Huey piloting the rocket (or any of my other nonsense), you absolutely have my permission.


	6. Of Mothers and Mottos

* * *

Upon hearing that Della was awake, the children and Donald had, of course, been far too impatient for breakfast. Beakley didn’t mind, but after they’d each seen her for a few minutes, she made sure to send them off to the hospital cafeteria with Donald to get something to eat. After she’d talked Scrooge into going home for at least a few hours of sleep, Beakley took advantage of the opportunity to visit Della alone. She hardly minded escorting the children on their visits, but she wanted a few minutes to talk to Della, one mother to another.

Seeing that Della was asleep when she arrived, Beakley sat down in the chair next to the bed. Through her work – and friendship – with Scrooge, she’d seen Della and Donald intermittently throughout their childhood, until she’d retired from field work with S.H.U.S.H. and moved into the mansion to become Scrooge’s “personal assistant” when the twins were young adults. It was a strange name for the role that didn’t describe it well. Duckworth actually managed most of his personal and household affairs, but it was a unique position Scrooge had made up, letting her consult on his adventure work but leaving her enough time to handle research missions for the agency. She’d been reluctant to take the job, at first.

_“I’m not some lonely widow with an empty nest you have to keep an eye on, Scrooge. You should know me better than that. I don’t need your charity. I’m only partially retired, anyhow.”_

_Scrooge snorted. “Believe me, I know. The truth is, I **want** you around. The reason we worked together so well in the field is because we may have the same mission objective, but we go about it in different ways. I need that perspective.”_

_That got her to smile. “Are you saying you’ve finally found a use for protocol?”_

_He poked her arm playfully with the tip of his cane. “I’m saying that I might need an outside angle now and then.”_

_“And you will, of course, reserve the right to completely disregard my advice at any time.” Beakley wasn’t going to kid herself; she knew him too well._

_“Of course,” he agreed, smiling. “In my defense, I’m at least a tad more cautious than Della.”_

_She laughed. “With all due respect, that’s somewhat like being the tallest dwarf.”_

She’d been allowing herself to daydream, reminiscing about the past, but warning chirp of one of the monitors as Della shifted position, temporarily disrupting its readings, reoriented Beakley to the present. She smiled, seeing that Della was waking up. “Hello, dear.”

“Hey.” Della groaned as she tried to sit up; Beakley moved to raise the head of the bed and adjust pillows to help her get comfortable. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Beakley let a hand rest on Della’s shoulder for a moment. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I always hated that question when I was injured.”

Della smiled tiredly. “Appreciate it.”

Beakley returned the smile. “Della…I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on parenting styles, but no one knows what they’re doing from the start. You’ve learned and adapted. The boys couldn’t have a better mother.”

A blush rose to Della’s cheeks. “Aw, you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Beakley shook her head. “I’ve never been one to mince words. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, actually…I suppose the universe has its own perverse ways of forcing us to make the time.” She reached out to squeeze Della’s hand briefly. “Your child was in danger and you acted. As much as I’d love to say that any mother would do the same, I’ve seen enough of the world’s underbelly to know that isn’t the case. But any _good_ mother would, if it were possible, and you did.” She smiled, knowing Della well enough to risk a little teasing. “Though, ideally, you’re supposed to get yourself out of the way too.”

Della laughed, wincing and automatically bringing her arm to her chest to brace herself. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. But…I’ll try to remember that next time.”

As much as Beakley hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, she also knew this family and she certainly wouldn’t promise Della that. “Good plan.” Jokes aside, she’d let her guard down and she wanted to take full advantage of this private moment. “I am glad you’re going to be all right. And…I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Della asked.

“For taking Webby under your wing too the way you have.” Beakley was eternally grateful to all of Scrooge’s family for the way they’d welcomed her granddaughter into the fold. But there was something special about the way Webby seemed to be taking to Della, something she’d wanted Webby to have for so long. “FOWL robbed her of her parents – and Heaven knows I’ve done the best I could since then. But I’ve always known I wouldn’t be enough for her as she grew. I taught her everything I could to keep her alive, but I couldn’t teach her to _live_ the way she wanted to. Frankly, for a long time, I was afraid to let her. I still am, if I’m being honest.”

Della’s hand curled around Beakley’s wrist. “Aw, you did great with her.”

“Thank you, but…she needed more. And now she has a whole family that’s embraced her. And a female role model whose personality matches hers a little more closely.” Beakley smiled fondly. “You and Eliza always did have a lot in common.”

Della’s eyes teared up. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I couldn’t have dared to hope that when the boys got their mother back, Webby would find one too, but I couldn’t be more grateful. So thank you.”

Della brushed away the tears that had gathered. “You’re welcome. And thanks for being patient with me.”

“Of course, dear.” There had been a lot of changes over the past year or so, but there was also one constant. “We’re all figuring out this new world together.”

* * *

Headcounts were very important when raising triplets, Donald had learned, especially so when the triplets welcomed a fourth kid to their ranks. And when the downy little head that came up missing was Dewey’s…something was afoot. Webby was conspicuously absent from the waiting room as well and Donald frowned. While he trusted the two of them to limit their shenanigans given the time and place – or, at the very least, hoped Webby would rein Dewey in – he felt it necessary to find them and learn what they were up to sooner rather than later. He’d last seen them only a few minutes ago, reading the visitation rules and discussing the one that stated all minors should be accompanied by an adult.

Donald groaned; he really didn’t want to deal with the kids testing the limits of the hospital’s security system today. To get to Della’s room, one had to be buzzed through a magnetically locked door by hospital staff. Magnetically locked doors were pretty much child’s play when the child was Webby. He looked around, trying to subtly catch Beakley’s eye so they could confer, when the objects of his concern walked by. Or, rather, Webby’s feet did, with Dewey’s face. Dewey was wearing a surgical mask and cap, with a labcoat that hung down far enough to conceal Webby beneath him, and Donald had to clench his beak to keep from laughing out loud. It was the oldest trick in the book – and, yet, it was heartwarming in a strange way to see them trying it.

Scrooge had just returned to the hospital, and he saw it as well. He chuckled as he smiled at Donald. “I swear, these doctors look younger every year, don’t they, Donald?”

Donald nodded. “Sure seems like it.”

Beakley snorted, but she was clearly amused. “To be sure, we’re all aware that’s Webby and Dewey in a lab coat, right?”

“Of course,” Donald replied at the same time Scrooge did.

Beakley’s smile widened a little. “And we’re going to let them get away with it because it’s so far beneath their best effort that it’s actually adorable?”

“Oh, yeah.” Donald nodded; Scrooge quickly agreed as well. It was a particularly low-stakes scenario. At worst, a distracted nurse would buzz them in and they’d get to see Della without an adult present. She certainly wouldn’t mind – if anything, it would probably delight her if they succeeded. It had certainly lightened Donald’s mood.

Beakley nodded, turning back to her book as if nothing had happened. “Carry on, then.”

* * *

Della had been half-awake, not really wanting to fall asleep _again_ , but lacking the strength to fight it, when a scuffling sound from the other side of the room caught her attention. She turned her head to see a doctor awkwardly stepping into the room, trying to shut the door and walk at the same time. She was almost a little concerned for him when she saw the eyes above the mask – and then she was laughing, despite how it made her body ache. Dewey. And the fringe of purple skirt peeking beneath the lab coat immediately identified his partner in crime, though she probably could have guessed. “Hey, kids.” Dewey tumbled off of Webby’s shoulders, jumping up and brushing himself off like he meant to do that. Webby just shrugged, emerging from beneath the lab coat as she tossed it aside. 

“Hi, Mom.” Dewey trotted over, smiling at Webby triumphantly. “I _told_ you if we just waited for that nurse to answer the phone, she’d just push the button and let us in.”

Webby put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, but who swiped that lab coat off the linen cart?”

“Okay, fair. Team effort.” Dewey held his hand out for a high-five, which Webby immediately gave him before both of the kids hopped up into the chair.

“Good plan.” Della reached out to ruffle Dewey’s hair. “Now you guys get on my shoulders and we’ll be the world’s tallest doctor and get me out of here.” She hated being in the hospital; she was almost willing to try it. Almost.

Webby laughed. “That _might_ be pushing it a bit.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe we got away with it.” Dewey chuckled. “That’s, like, the oldest trick in the book.”

When the eleven-year-olds were pointing out the obvious flaws in a plan – however fun it might have seemed with generous amounts of pain medication in her system – Della had to admit it hadn’t had much going for it. She was still deeply amused by their effort, though. “Okay, okay.” The hoarseness in her voice was getting better as the day went on, but she still felt like roadkill (appropriate, she thought, considering how close she’d come to _being_ it) and she knew she wasn’t likely to get far if she tried getting out of bed. Not yet, anyway.

Despite the lightheartedness of the moment, Dewey wasn’t able to disguise the worry in his eyes. “You doing okay? I mean…relatively?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bravado for her kid’s sake? Della could manage that. “You know me. Nothing can stop Della Duck.” She tried to sit up all the way, instead of being propped on the pillows, but her ribs quickly reminded her with a sharp pain that they weren’t ready for that. She winced, leaning back. “Okay. One thing. _One._ For now.”

Though she hadn’t managed to prove she was perfectly fine, maybe that wasn’t what Dewey had needed. He seemed to relax a little. “It’s okay. You just need a little time. It’s like Uncle Donald says – Ducks don’t back down.”

Della groaned, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Is he still trying to make that a thing?”

Dewey nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, he totally did.” 

Something about the way Webby was shaking her head told Della this was a story she needed to hear. She was just about to ask, knowing Dewey would be happy to entertain her, when Scrooge stepped in, grinning as he saw the two kids at her bedside. “So, these mischievous miscreants pulled it off, eh?”

“Apparently.” Della smiled. “My kids know the classics.”

Scrooge scooped both the ducklings up, but then settled them on either side of him as he settled in the chair. They didn’t seem to mind. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no.” Dewey shook his head. “We were just talking about Uncle Donald’s family motto.”

“Oh.” Scrooge chuckled. “Is he still trying to make that a thing?”

“It’s definitely a thing,” Dewey insisted. “You were th – oh, wait, you weren’t for that part.” His eyes widened and he looked at Webby. “You know what this means, right?”

“Story time!” Webby agreed.

As much as Della was loving their retelling of what they’d dubbed the “Shadow War,” her body betrayed her and she started to fade somewhere around Donald telling the kids to stay on the dock. She was sure they hadn’t – and she’d get the rest soon. She doubted the kids would mind telling it again. And wasn’t it a bit of a role reversal, them telling a story to settle her down for a nap? She let her eyes close, feeling Scrooge tuck the blanket around her, and she had a feeling that if she did dream, it was going to be one of the good ones.

* * *


	7. Everything Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The solid Duck content on tumblr finally lured me back there, and I'll be posting there when I update this story. My username is hearmeouteliza (yes, it's absolutely a Hamilton reference). As always, the kudos, bookmarks, and comments you all have left are _so_ appreciated. <3 Thank you!

* * *

Huey had all the necessary components to repair Della’s prosthetic leg – determination, the Junior Woodchuck know-how, and a good supply of spare parts. It was the only project that could have drawn him away from the hospital after he’d had a chance to see his mother awake and assure himself she was going to be all right; she was going to need it back and in working order soon. Huey had considered asking Gyro to do the repairs, but who knew what he’d try to add to it. Once Huey figured out how Della had configured the servos that gave her the needed flexion in the foot, it was a pretty simple job. When he headed to the lab to borrow a couple of tools, he discovered that Gyro was about to head back to Tokyolk anyhow, to sort through Dr. Akita’s labs. Officially, it was a request from the Japanese government, in case there was anything dangerous left lurking there, but Huey suspected Gyro probably would have done it eventually no matter what.

As interested as Huey might have been to return to Tokyolk any other time, he was needed more at home. He hurried back to the mansion with the tools, quickly losing track of time as he focused on his work. He’d just finished the bulk of the work and was reaching for a cloth to buff everything up when Dewey pounced on him. Huey sputtered in surprise as he was tackled to the floor. “Dewey!”

Dewey grinned as he backed off of his brother, helping him up. “Mrs. B dragged us home for dinner. It’s almost ready. What’s had you holed up here all day?” He glanced over Huey’s shoulder. “Oh, hey! Is that Mom’s leg?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty much fixed now,” Huey said, grabbing the prosthesis to show off his work. “I just need to clean it up and we can get it back to her. I was really impressed by the design. As simple as it looks, there’s actually a very elegant inner structure.”

Dewey nodded seriously as he looked it over. “Yeah, it looks great. And by that…I mean, the same as it did before. Which I think is a good thing?” He frowned a little, his enthusiasm fading. “I heard it was in pretty rough shape.”

Huey was relieved his brothers hadn’t seen the initial damage, especially Louie. “Yeah, it was – but, hey, good as new!”

That got Dewey to brighten back up. “Perfect!” He leapt behind his Dewey Dew-Night desk, digging through one of the drawers until he came back with an oversized bow, attaching it to the metal leg. “Presentation is everything. That’s gotta be in the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, right?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Huey nodded in satisfaction. “It’s actually in the chapter on cooking, but close enough.” Speaking of cooking, he was beginning to realize how hungry he was; he’d been too preoccupied to stop for lunch. “You said dinner was ready?”

“Yup.” Dewey nodded. “Race you to the kitchen?”

Everything was a competition with Dewey. Huey shook his head as Dewey took off before he could even agree to the challenge. “You’re not winning if I’m not playing!” he called down the hall. But any return to their version of normal was welcome, really. He’d let Dewey have this one.

* * *

Della had quickly discovered that daytime television was, for the most part, as boring as it had been before she’d been stuck on the moon. There were a few exceptions – and a couple of surprisingly good kids’ shows – but, overall, she was left channel-surfing, adrift in a sea of informercials and reality shows full of people she couldn’t stand. Fortunately, she hadn’t been left alone to have to watch _too_ much of it. Her family had been visiting frequently – and with such a big family, that meant plenty of people to keep her company. They’d moved her out of the intensive care unit and onto a regular floor that morning as well, which meant fewer restrictions. And one more step toward getting home, as far as Della was concerned.

Huey hadn’t been around much the day before – he’d come in after breakfast to tell her he had a project he was working on for her, and he’d be back when he was done. When he came into her room, holding something behind his back, Della guessed that she was about to find out what he’d been up to. “Hey, hon.”

“Hi.” Huey looked briefly nervous, but then grinned and pulled his gift out from behind his back. “I fixed this for you. I hope it’s all right; we didn’t have all of the exact same materials, but I used the closest equivalents I could find.”

Della laughed at seeing her metal leg cheerfully adorned with a huge bow. Scrooge had mentioned it needed a few repairs – and as much as she shouldn’t have been surprised that Huey decided to take on the job himself, she was still touched. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sure it’s amazing. Thank you.” She hugged him tightly as soon as he was close enough, then took a moment to admire his work. “This is awesome! I’d been meaning to reinforce the hinges anyway; they take more of a beating under Earth’s gravity than I’d expected. You really did a great job.”

Huey beamed at the praise. “I was just following the original design. It’s pretty impressive. And I didn’t want to modify it too much without asking you, but that would have ruined the surprise.”

Della smiled. “Well, you’ll be the first person I call if I ever get around to adding the can opener attachment.” She’d gotten used to the simplicity of her first draft over the years – and, for a long time, rebuilding her ship had been the bigger priority. But if the warning twinges her ribs gave her every time she tried to move too much were any indication, she was going to have a lot of time on her hands over the next few weeks. Who knew what she might come up with to occupy herself? She reached out to ruffle Huey’s hair, nudging his hat back into place before it fell off afterward. “Thank you again. It really means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Huey blushed a little before gently snuggling against her side. “I’m just glad there was something I could do to help.”

Della draped her arm over his shoulders, enjoying the chance to have him close. Every moment with her boys felt like a gift after being away from them for so long. Their whole _lives_. And soon they’d be teenagers who’d be too big to cuddle like this. “It does help, a lot. And knowing you and your brothers are safe is the biggest relief of all.”

Huey nodded, making a soft noise against her chest. Just as Della was about to ask him what was on his mind, he spoke up. “I read a lot about your injuries; I find facts comforting. But…there was this other thing I found, about something called Waddle’s Triad. And it has nothing to do with Mark Beaks.” He sighed before continuing to explain. “Basically, it’s this pattern of injuries that happens when kids get hit by cars, and the mortality rate…could be better.”

Della nodded. She knew exactly where this was going. Most of her visitors had alluded to the fact that Louie would have been much worse off than her if he’d been hit, quite possibly dead. Huey was just the first one to be so direct about it. The thought didn’t terrify her any less in retrospect than it did in the moment she’d seen what was about to happen. The difference was, she had time to think about it now, when she hadn’t then. “Yeah. It scares me too.”

Huey frowned. “I mean, St. Canard’s hospital has a really good trauma unit, at least, but it’s just…I shouldn’t focus on what _could_ have happened.”

“It’s only natural.” Della kissed the top of his head. “I think about it, too. And whatever happens to me can happen as long as you boys are all right.”

Huey’s eyes were wide as he looked up at her. “You saved his life.”

Della squirmed a little. The heroism of her choice that people wanted to heap on her felt mildly uncomfortable, though she didn’t really know how to explain that to anyone else. She’d _meant_ to get them both out of the way. And she was a mother; what else was she supposed to do when she had a chance to act? For all the times in her life she’d been accused of jumping into things without thinking, sometimes rightfully so, there hadn’t been time to think. Her instincts had taken over. “Hey, I’m your mom. I promised I’d always watch out for you, right?”

“Yeah.” Huey nodded. “I just hate that you had to get hurt.”

“Sometimes you zig when you should have zagged.” Della curled her hand around his, pleased when she felt him relax slightly. “This won’t keep me down for long.”

Huey nuzzled his face against her; the quiet noises he made this time sounded far more content. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Any time, honey.” Della stroked his hair, smiling at the realization that she was getting better at consoling her kids. Getting to know them better had helped with that, she was sure, but she still got a little thrill every time she got the hang of those “mom moments.” Movement from the hallway caught her eye, and she glanced over to see Dewey and Louie standing in the doorway. She held out her free arm invitingly. “Come on, there’s room for more.” Dewey didn’t hesitate to cuddle up to her side opposite Huey; Louie only hung back for a couple of seconds before joining his brothers and settling into Della’s lap. There was no way they could have remembered – at least she didn’t think so – but this was the exact positioning she used to hold them in when she snuggled with their eggs, and it brought back a rush of warm memories. There had been one particular night in Castle McDuck…

_They only got to visit the castle every five years, when the mists of Dismal Downs cleared, and Della didn’t want to miss the opportunity to introduce her children to their great-grandparents, even if they hadn’t hatched yet. Donald had been a little concerned about taking them on such a long trip, but even he’d unwound a bit along the way, especially when Della had snatched his hat and put it on one of the eggs once they settled into their room. “Look, Turbo, you’re just like Uncle Donald now!”_

_Donald smiled, giving the egg a fond pat as he retrieved his hat, but then frowned. “Turbo? That’s…not a name.”_

_“It is too a name,” Della argued. “Jet, Turbo, and Rebel.” She pointed to each of them in turn. “I haven’t decided on middle names yet.”_

_“They’re kids, not pets!” Donald insisted. He picked the middle egg up, frowning thoughtfully. “How about Deuteronomy?” He tripped over the pronunciation and shook his head. “Dawson?”_

_“Right, like Uncle Scrooge would stand for his grand-nephew sharing a name with the town where he met Goldie.” Della chuckled as Donald’s expression revealed he clearly hadn’t thought of that connection. “And Deuteronomy? Really?” She shook her head, climbing onto the bed next to the eggs. It was a bit chilly in the castle – not unusual – but she was worried the babies would get cold, so she pulled them closer. She tucked Jet and Turbo against her sides, putting Rebel in her lap. She smiled as she felt them wriggle within their shells, moving toward the warmth. “I’ll let you pick their middle names if you can come up with some decent ones.”_

_“Fine.” Donald shook his head, but it didn’t hide his smile. “I’d better check up on Uncle Scrooge and Grampa before they strangle each other.”_

_“Have fun!” Della called after him. She was quite content to be exactly where she was – though she did notice Donald had left his hat behind. When she got up again, she was sure to have a bit of fun hiding that. Maybe she’d send him on a bit of a chase…_

Donald never stumbled upon Della’s ransom note for his hat – which, at the time, seemed like a waste of the effort she’d put into the prank. But she’d heard later that her sons _had_ , which was perfect in its own way. She smiled as she continued to hold them close. The next time the mists cleared, they could all go together, and maybe she could show the boys the hidden secrets she’d found in the castle when she was younger. Finding the Templar’s Treasure at last would have been amazing, but as far as Della was concerned, the greatest prize in Castle McDuck was the stash of embarrassing childhood pictures she’d discovered of their Uncle Scrooge.

* * *

Donald had wandered down to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee – it wasn’t great, but he’d had worse – when his phone started to ring. He jumped; even though Della was doing much better, he was still on edge. He blinked in surprise when he saw who was calling and his anxiety spiked for a different reason entirely. Daisy. He worked up the courage to answer before it rolled over to voicemail and sat down at one of the cafeteria’s tables, trying to sound casual. “Hello?”

“Hi, Donald!” Daisy sounded chipper. “It’s been awhile since we talked last; I wanted to be sure you’re all right.” There was a cacophony of noises in the background and she sighed. “Could you three hold it down for five minutes? I’m on the phone!”

“Ooh, with your _boyfriend_?” a young female voice asked.

“Shush, June,” Daisy replied, before coming back to Donald. “Sorry. My nieces are over and they’re kind of wild.”

“Oh, I know how that goes.” Donald vaguely remembered her mentioning her nieces before, when he’d explained the night they met that “his” kids were technically his nephews plus his unofficial niece, but he still thought of them as his kids. “How old are they?”

“Just turned eleven, so not much younger than yours, right?” Daisy laughed. “Maybe we should introduce them sometime. Funny how both our sisters have triplets, huh?”

Donald wasn’t sure how Daisy had come by her gift of understanding him, but it was a relief to be able to talk to someone on the phone and not have to repeat himself multiple times. Even Della had trouble over the phone sometimes. “Yeah, it sure is.” Though she didn’t seem upset, they’d been texting back and forth on the days they didn’t talk, and he felt he should apologize for his total silence recently. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch; Della’s in the hospital. She’s going to be all right now, but it’s been a crazy few days.”

Daisy made a sympathetic noise. “Oh, goodness. No need to apologize. I’m glad she’ll be okay, but you do what you’ve gotta do. I’ll be – April, you untie your sister right now!” She sighed. “Sorry…”

Donald chuckled. He could certainly relate to her situation. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. I’ll let you get back to them.”

“All right,” Daisy agreed. “Call me when things settle down for you. I hope Della feels better.”

“Thanks, me too.” Donald felt a blush rising to his cheeks as he told her, “Talk to you soon.” It had been a long time since he found himself this smitten with someone – he simply hadn’t had the time to even think about it before, when the boys were small. With the way his luck went, he couldn’t help but be a little skeptical that things were going _too_ well. But maybe the universe had finally decided it owed him one. He didn’t want to jinx it by worrying too much. Besides, he had enough other things to worry about. He picked up his coffee, heading back to the waiting room with a smile on his face.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waddell's Triad is actually a real thing - a pattern of injury particular to kids who have been hit by cars. I couldn't help but alter it for the Duckverse, though, because "Waddle's Triad" was impossible to resist.


	8. Welcome to Our Family Time

* * *

After a week in the hospital, Della had finally been released. Her doctor had wanted to keep her a couple of days more, but she’d already been climbing the walls (as much as her healing body would allow). She managed to convince the medical team that with as many people as she had at home to keep an eye on her, she’d be fine. Even if she had to sleep in one of the spare rooms on the first floor temporarily, since stairs were still a bit much for her, anything was better than being in the hospital.

Sitting up without help from anyone else felt like an accomplishment. Measuring the progress of her healing in such tiny steps threatened to take her mind back to those first weeks after the crash, but she had something she hadn’t back then – her family, not to mention the familiarity of home.

Della turned her head as she heard the familiar tap of a cane against the floor. “Hey, Uncle Scrooge.” She’d only been home a couple of hours and had let everyone fuss over her for a bit before she’d encouraged them to go do whatever they’d have been doing any other day. As much as she loved their company, she didn’t want them restructuring their lives around her. Scrooge was the first one to come back and check on her, at least so overtly. She’d caught glimpses of Donald and the kids peeking around the doorway to the living room before sneaking away. It was touching, even if she didn’t want them to worry.

Scrooge smiled, sitting next to her on the couch. “How’re you feeling?”

“About the same as the first fifty times someone’s asked me that question today,” Della teased.

“Aye, that’s fair,” Scrooge allowed. “Sorry, lass. We don’t mean to smother ye. It’s just that every time you walk through that door feels like a miracle. When I thought I might lose you again…”

He was rarely so open with her – or any of them, really – about his fears, and Della gingerly scooted closer so she could hug him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m all right, and I’m not going anywhere. You know me, too stubborn to know when to quit.” It was something he’d accused her often of in her teenage years.

Scrooge shifted so he could hold her. “It’s certainly seemed to serve you well in the end.” A fond smile crossed his lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever doubted where Dewey got it from.”

Della leaned into his embrace. They didn’t get moments like this often, even before she’d gotten lost, when Scrooge lowered his blustery defenses and let himself be vulnerable. She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling up at him. “What else do you see of me in them?” She still felt like a pretender, sometimes, like Donald was their real parent and she was just the cool aunt who was trying too hard. She knew he _was_ a parent to the boys, and she never wanted to take that from him or them, but even in the aftermath of the accident, Della occasionally struggled to accept that she’d earned the right to be their mother. Genetics weren’t everything, but it warmed her to hear all the ways her sons had taken after her, even before she’d gotten the chance to know them.

“Would you like an itemized list?” Scrooge asked, chuckling. “For starters, Huey’s got your love of the outdoors, your gift for tinkering – and your temper. Louie…you know he sees the angles like you, but beyond that, no one can talk themselves out of trouble like either of you. And Dewey…well, you might as well have just cloned that one.” His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID. “Gyro? Ach, what’s that bampot boffin want?”

“Go ahead and answer it,” Della encouraged, in case he was hesitating on her account. “And, while you’ve got him on the line, ask him how on Earth he thinks black licorice is supposed to be the best flavor.” True, she asked Gyro that exact same question every time she saw him, but she could still taste it on the back of her tongue sometimes.

Scrooge smiled, flipping open his phone. “Yes, Gyro?”

With as close as she was, Della could hear Gyro on the other end of the line. “There’s something you need to see.”

“I thought you were in Japan,” Scrooge said, frowning.

“I am,” Gyro replied. “There’s still something you need to see, in Dr. Akita’s lab.”

“What is it, then?” Scrooge asked.

“I’m not sure I should discuss it over an unsecured line.” Gyro sounded nervous, but that wasn’t exactly unusual for him. “I know you have a lot going on right now, but this…it’s important.”

Scrooge sighed. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you later.” He hung up, shaking his head. “He’s got a lousy sense of timing.”

“If it’s that big a deal, you should probably go.” Della recalled what Huey told her of Akita’s lab – and though the dramatics weren’t necessarily unexpected where Gyro was involved, Akita had been dangerous. “I mean, this Akita is the same guy who tried to turn a cute little robot kid into a killing machine.” She could see the hesitation on Scrooge’s face, especially as he looked at her. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Are you sure?” Scrooge asked. “I hate to leave ye at a time like this.”

“I’m sure,” Della insisted. She didn’t want them to put their lives on hold any longer on her account. Plus, if Gyro _had_ found something dangerous, Scrooge was probably the best one to handle it. “I’ve got Donald and the boys here if I need anything. _And_ Webby and Mrs. B., probably even Duckworth.”

“Indeed,” Duckworth’s ghostly voice agreed from behind the couch. It was a little creepy – intentionally so, Della assumed – but it helped make her point.

“See?” Della sat up, patting Scrooge’s arm. “It’ll be _fine_. You can go find out what’s got Gyro so worked up, then come home and tell us all about it. And if you see any of those Chocoball candies, pick some up. I want to let the kids try them.”

“All right, then.” Scrooge kissed the top of her head, something he hadn’t done since she was much younger. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

* * *

For someone as energetic as Della was, recovery was a quick path to boredom. She was thrilled to be home, but still frustrated by her body’s refusal to heal instantly and let her resume her normal activities. She’d never been a good patient. Why couldn’t it be like the movies, where the hero was near death one day and chasing down the bad guys the next morning?

Fortunately, her family had been happy to provide her with diversions. Whether it was because they knew she’d be going stir-crazy or they were trying to avoid her injuring herself further by trying to do too much too quickly, Della appreciated their efforts. She grinned as Donald approached her, carrying what looked like a stack of photo albums. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Donald glanced at the space next to Della on the couch. “Is this seat taken?”

“It is now,” Della replied. She laughed as Donald frowned at her, looking surprised and perhaps a little wounded. “I meant by _you_ , genius.” She patted the cushion. “Get over here.”

“Oh, right.” Donald brightened instantly, setting the albums down on the coffee table and settling in beside his sister. “You might have seen these already, but we never got a chance to go through them together. I thought it might be fun.”

Della had been through a couple of the photo albums Donald had on the houseboat, at least the ones that were readily accessible, but she was delighted to look at them with him. “Sounds great.”

Donald pulled the top album off of the stack, handing it to Della. “Grandma Duck gave me a box of pictures a few years ago; I just got around to putting them into a book.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the boys kept you running.” Della suspected he might not have been emotionally ready to go through those pictures until recently anyhow, but she let it go unmentioned. That part was really her fault anyhow. She laughed as she opened the album to find a picture of them as toddlers on the first page, wearing matching sailor suits. “I thought I got rid of all the copies of that one!”

“It’s cute!” Donald insisted. They’d never been particularly matchy twins, despite their mother’s efforts to the contrary, and Donald loved that picture almost as much as Della hated it. Of course, it _was_ his preferred aesthetic. 

“Okay, next.” Della swatted his arm playfully as she turned the page. There were a lot of pictures of their early childhood, those first years they’d spent on the farm before their parents’ accident. With as young as they’d been, Della only had vague memories of those times, but she’d always held on to the feelings of warmth and love that were associated with them. She sighed, knowing she was potentially opening Pandora’s box, but she had to ask. “Do you ever wonder how things would have gone if Ma hadn’t asked for Uncle Scrooge to take us if anything happened?”

Donald sighed as well, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he moved closer to her. “Sometimes. I try not to think about it too much. Our family is what it is and Uncle Scrooge has always been a part of that.”

For once, their feelings were similar. Della had pondered it – among other things – occasionally throughout her life and come to the same conclusion. Adventure was in their blood and Scrooge had introduced them to that adventure. “Remember how bored we used to get when we went back to the farm for a couple of weeks?”

Donald chuckled. “Yeah. Seeing everyone was great, but after that, it just…”

“Dragged,” Della finished. Their thirst for action had gotten them and their cousins into (and out of) a few scrapes while they were growing up. “Hey, how about the time you convinced Fethry there were mermaid frogs at the bottom of the pond?”

Donald snorted. “It wasn’t exactly hard.” His eyes lit up. “What about when _you_ tried to make that airplane out of parts you found in the barn?”

“That might have worked if I hadn’t been _seven_!” 

“Or if you hadn’t talked Gladstone into flying it off of Gadwall Hill with you,” Donald insisted.

“Yeah, I think his luck and mine canceled each other out.” Della snickered. “He landed in a truck bed full of wool, but I landed on him.”

Donald shook his head, his expression wistful. “We were so ridiculous.”

“’Were’?” Della teased. As Donald nudged her, however delicately, in response, she turned the page of the photo album, her gaze lingering on a rare picture of them with their mother. She felt Donald squeeze her hand and she returned the gesture; they didn’t need to say anything. The sheer amount of photos thinned out as they got older, probably because fewer had been taken and sent to their grandmother, but those memories were still precious to Della. 

The last picture in the book was one that had been taken while she’d been carrying the triplets’ eggs. It was the last time they’d been out to the farm together, and Della’s eyes filled with happy tears as she looked at it. Donald’s hands were on her swollen waist and the smiles on both of their faces reminded her of just how excited and hopeful they’d been. Her tears began to spill over, though, her heart clenching, as she thought of everything they’d sworn they’d do together. The years her family had spent torn apart. All because she couldn’t wait a few days to test the rocket, be sure it was safe to take her babies to the stars in. And the Spear of Selene had been a good ship; it _would_ have been safe if not for that cosmic storm, which she’d have missed if she could have just waited. This wasn’t the first time she’d wept over this and she doubted it would be the last, but with as off-kilter as she was feeling, it crashed down on her quickly.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” Donald pulled her close to him, rubbing her back.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured into his shoulder, holding onto him tightly. 

He didn’t ask about what. “I know.” Donald’s hand found hers and he brought it close to his chest. “But you’re home now. And that’s what matters.” He stroked her hair until her tears eased up. “What do you say when you’re feeling better, we take the boys and Webby out to the farm?”

Della didn’t pull away from him, content to let him hold her for a few moments longer. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Della was flipping through one of the photo albums Donald brought her, looking at pictures of the triplets when they had been babies. It was hardly the first time she’d seen these pictures, but they never got old. And while her guilt and regret over missing that time in their lives would never fade entirely, she was learning to make the most of what they had now. Sometimes that went better than others, but she was making progress.

She looked up, suddenly sensing she wasn’t alone, when a voice startled her. “Ace! It’s been awhile.”

Della’s eyes were wide as she turned to face her visitor. Even if she hadn’t recognized the voice, only one person had ever routinely called her “Ace.” “ _Goldie_?”

Goldie O’Gilt waved as she joined Della on the couch, as if this were the most normal thing ever. “Hiya, kid.”

“What are you doing here?” Della didn’t want to be rude as long as Goldie was playing nice, but at the same time, her presence was usually cause for some level of suspicion. 

Goldie shrugged, feigning innocence. “A girl can’t swing by to check up on her dear old friend now and then?”

Well, that was one way of describing Goldie’s relationship with Scrooge. Della snorted. “First of all, you don’t have a habit of stopping by just because you miss Scrooge.” She wasn’t going to tell Goldie that Scrooge was out of town; that felt too much like erecting a giant neon sign that said “ _Please steal our stuff.”_ Not that Goldie probably wouldn’t try anyway. “Secondly, give me back my wallet.”

Goldie sighed, relinquishing the wallet she’d swiped. She looked around the room. “So, where’s Sunshine?”

That was what she called Donald; Goldie was all about the nicknames. Della shrugged. “What, like I’m his keeper?”

“Oh, come on.” Goldie rolled her eyes. “I may be blonde, but I’m not dumb. Scroogey isn’t here, and he’s not at his precious Money Bin; I checked. If he’s gone while you’re laid up, that means that twin of yours is lurking somewhere in the shadows.”

“What, like Darkwing Duck?” The image of Donald as a superhero entertained Della.

“Whoever that is.” Goldie glanced toward the hallway. “Relax, Donnie, you can come out now. I wouldn’t hurt a single feather on her – or you.”

Donald sighed, stepping into the room from the hallway, his arms crossed. “I wasn’t worried about you _hurting_ us.”

Della chuckled. “Yeah, more like robbing us blind.”

Goldie put a hand to her chest, her expression one of mock hurt. “Is that what you really think of me?”

“Well, experience _is_ the best teacher.” Della shook her head. “Really, what’s your game this time?”

“I’m just here on business.” Goldie smiled. “And I heard Scrooge’s lost lamb found her way home and wanted to see for myself.”

Della gestured to herself. “Well, I’m here. It’s been lovely seeing you. Bye, now.” She _was_ a little fond of Goldie – it was hard not to be, with as charming as she was – but that didn’t mean Della trusted her. 

Goldie snorted. “You always were the sassy one.” She glanced over her shoulder at Donald, who was still standing guard. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Donald shook his head. “Not really, no.” He turned, seeing something in the hallway, and put out an arm to block someone from entering. It didn’t work, though, as Louie rounded the doorway and caught sight of Goldie, leaping over Donald’s arm and hurrying over.

“You!” Louie pointed at Goldie accusingly. “You owe me! We had a deal!”

Della stifled a laugh; somehow, it didn’t surprise her that Louie had gotten wrapped up into something with Goldie. She waited to see how this would play out; as much as she wanted to watch out for her son, Goldie wasn’t a physical threat. And Louie seemed to be able to hold his own with her. Learning the rules of making deals with Goldie (the first rule being never to trust a deal with Goldie) might be a valuable life lesson for him.

Goldie barely reacted to his outrage. “Kid, you play the game, you take the risks.” She smiled, reaching into her pocket. “But, here. You’re a novice and I have to respect that.” She tossed him a green gem, which he caught, examining it with wide eyes. “Picked that up near the Valley of the Golden Suns. I was going to dangle it in front of Scrooge’s beak, but since he’s not around, it’s your lucky day. Don’t say I never gave you anything.” She stood, clearly ready to breeze out of the room as quickly as she came. “Have fun, kids. I’ll see you around.” She paused in the doorway, turning back for a moment. “Oh, and Ace?”

“Yeah?” Della asked.

“Welcome home.” And, with that, she was gone.

Della couldn’t help but wonder if, despite her demeanor, Goldie might have a secret soft spot for them, too. She’d been in and out of their lives for as long as Della could remember; surely something had to be between them after all that time. She turned her attention to Louie, who was turning his prize over in his hands. “I hate to burst your bubble, but you know she probably got that at an airport kiosk, right?”

Louie nodded, hopping up onto the couch into the spot Goldie had vacated. “Yeah, figured as much.” He held the gem up to the light, squinting at something that was etched into one of the facets. “Yup, there it is. Made in Macaw.” Despite that, he didn’t look too upset. He sighed, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “That’s Goldie.”

Donald sighed, joining them, but even he seemed amused. “Yup. That’s Goldie, all right.”

* * *

Dewey had come down to the living room to check on his mother, finding her napping on the couch. That was probably a good thing; the more she rested, the faster she’d heal. He glanced over the photo albums that were sitting on the coffee table, curious. Most of them, he was familiar with – pictures of him and his brothers – but there was a new one among them and it caught his eye. He picked it up, and nearly burst out laughing at the first picture he saw. He was only able to stifle it out of fear of waking Della. Whatever he’d expected, baby pictures of his mom and uncle hadn’t been it – and the matching outfits put it over the top. He grabbed the album, hurrying upstairs to his room and gesturing for Huey and Louie to join him. “You guys have _got_ to see this!”

* * *


	9. Time Heals (Almost) Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much, as usual! I hope to catch up on replying to all your lovely comments by tomorrow, but know that they're SO appreciated!

* * *

_“But the ending always comes at last…endings always come too fast… They come too fast, and they pass too slow…”_

Sometimes, sad songs were the only thing to suit one’s mood. Beakley was in her room – the one place in the mansion where it was guaranteed she could be alone for a few minutes – and had turned the record on as a distraction, mostly. But the melancholy tune reflected her feelings, and the music would cover the noise if she broke down crying despite her best efforts. She wasn’t ashamed of her tears, but she hated crying; she’d done too much of it, for too many people in her life.

Birthdays and anniversaries were the hardest. The rest of the year, life kept her occupied, and time had healed the most gaping wounds. But the scars were still there; sometimes, they were just a little too easy to aggravate. Beakley sighed. She needed a cup of tea to steel herself, but that would have meant going down to the kitchen – and, judging by the children’s laughter she heard outside her door, there would be messes to clean and the tea would be cold before she even got to touch it. Not that she minded hearing them play. If anything, it lifted her spirits.

The rattling of a teapot against a silver platter caught her attention; she hadn’t heard the door open. As she turned, Beakley realized it didn’t have to. Duckworth was hovering above the ground, casually pouring a cup of tea. Once finished, he held the cup out to her, as if there were nothing strange at all about this situation. “Tea?”

Beakley took the cup, giving the tea a cursory sniff. She preferred her tea much stronger than Scrooge did – and Duckworth had known that. A test sip confirmed that he’d prepared it exactly to her specifications. If he was being nice to her, she must have been looking rough. “Thank you.” She tried to avoid looking directly at Duckworth; his ghostly appearance didn’t shake her, but the sympathy in his expression did. “Am I really that much of a mess?”

“Not particularly, no,” Duckworth replied. "But your choice of music is a bit more maudlin than usual, and with Eliza and Richard’s wedding anniversary being in a few days, I figured you could use the support.”

“You remember that?” she asked, blinking in surprise.

Duckworth shrugged. “I remember all of this household’s significant dates.”

“Oh, right.” Beakley nodded. “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness. Truly. Now, is this the part where you go back to insulting my housekeeping skills and I call you a jackass because the children aren’t around to hear it?”

Duckworth frowned, as if considering it. “As tempting as that is, perhaps these moments of respite might be better served by talking about whatever it is that’s troubling you?”

Beakley shrugged. “You said it yourself; Eliza and Richard’s anniversary is coming up. It would have been their fourteenth. I’m allowed to be a bit soppy about it.”

Duckworth nodded. “Of course you are. But I get the feeling there’s more to it than just that.”

He’d always been able to see through her – and everyone else, really – like this. Given that, as a spy, her life had frequently depended on her ability to bluff, Beakley found it unsettling. But she’d found she needed it occasionally. “How long have you got?”

Duckworth gave her a cheeky grin. “Eternity.”

“Of course.” Beakley sighed, moving to look out the window before finally sitting down with her tea. It reminded her of the nights they’d both denied any knowledge of, where they became confidants rather than antagonists. They’d always been friends, down deep, of course, but they’d never have admitted it openly. That went against all the rules of their little game. She raised an eyebrow as Duckworth sat as well, but continued to hover about an inch above the chair. “Is that strictly necessary?” She certainly didn’t pretend to understand paranormal physics.

“As long as it continues to unnerve you, yes.” 

There it was, the banter she was used to. It lightened the mood enough to persuade her to open up a bit more. Keeping it to herself certainly wasn’t doing her any good, and with Scrooge out of the country, Duckworth was really the only one she could talk to about things like this. “All right, fine.” She reached into her apron pocket, running her fingers over a piece of cloth that was usually tucked in there, if it wasn’t being kept safe in her jewelry box. It was her own version of Scrooge’s Number One Dime, Beakley supposed, only far more tragic. “I swore to myself years ago that I wouldn’t allow Black Heron any more space in my head than she’s already had, but it’s easier said than done.”

Duckworth nodded, moving to pour a second cup of tea and sliding it closer to her. “This is about the accusations she made, then?”

Beakley nodded. “I don’t want to believe it. It’s exactly the sort of thing she’d use to wound me.”

“But?” Duckworth prompted.

“But…” Beakley shook her head, reaching for the new cup of tea. Yorkshire Gold, two tea bags, one sugar, no milk. Just like always. “I saw agents go rogue, good ones. FOWL’s propaganda machine never rests. I’d be a fool to believe it isn’t at least _possible_. You know I had questions that night, about how sudden it was, how they just showed up out of the blue and asked me to watch Webbigail for the night. And Richard looked so worried…”

Duckworth nodded. “Without strong evidence either way, it’s understandable that you’d put your faith in your family.”

“Yes, and that’s what I’ve told myself for years now. I hate myself for even having a shred of doubt, but optimism has never been in my nature.” She took a sip of her tea, calming herself. “Death has shadowed my family since I was a child. As Webby gets older, if she starts to poke into places she shouldn’t…”

“Perhaps you should be honest with her,” Duckworth suggested.

Beakley snorted. “As much as I despise lying to my granddaughter, even if it’s only by omission, no. You’ve seen how she is with even the hint of a mystery. She won’t let it go. I launched my own investigations and got nowhere because there were certain lines I couldn’t risk crossing, not when she was depending on me to come home. Danger won’t stop her; she welcomes it.” As her mother and grandmother once had. “And never mind the risks. The poor girl was devastated when she found out mermaids weren’t all sunshine and rainbows. How can I tell her there’s a possibility – however slight – that her parents might have been double agents?”

_Everything had happened so fast. Eliza and Richard had shown up with Webby in tow, looking for an emergency babysitter. A rare joint mission, sprung on them at the last minute. That hadn’t aroused any suspicion – it was part of the S.H.U.S.H. life – though Beakley had been a little concerned about how anxious Richard seemed. Then again, Webby had been particularly clingy lately; he was probably worried about leaving her. Everything had seemed fine until the late-night phone call from the agency’s director, the one that shattered her world._

_Scrooge and Duckworth had been checking in on her frequently, which she appreciated, but at the moment, Beakley just felt numb. Beyond taking care of Webby, she was merely going through the motions of everyday existence. Two weeks had flown by, memorials had been arranged, Webby’s belongings had been brought to the mansion, and life continued to go on. She could recite the stages of grief from memory; she knew this was a normal reaction. But she hated it. She wanted to feel something again, anything._

_As happened far too often, the universe seemed to hear her wish and grant it in a monkey’s paw sort of way. Rage consumed her as she stepped into her room and found Black Heron perched on her bed. “Don’t you ever stay dead?” she growled, glad Webby was safely tucked into bed, a floor away._

_The heron shrugged. “You should know by now that try not to make a habit of it.” She grinned brightly. “Oh, speaking of death!”_

_Beakley could have strangled her, and the only thing that kept her from trying was she wanted to know Black Heron’s game. If the goal had been to capture her, Black Heron wouldn’t have left herself out in the open and she’d have attacked by now. “What’s your angle?”_

_Black Heron reached into her pocket, pulling something out. “Who says I need an angle? I just wanted to bring a sympathy gift to one of my most hated nemeses.” She held out a small, squarish piece of turquoise fabric, torn and charred around the edges. “Here you are. Pity there wasn’t much else left for me to pick from. It’s such a shame that their bodies were burnt too badly for anything but cremation…but, on the bright side, that job was half done.”_

_It was only a lifetime of training that kept Beakley from reacting outwardly – and also following through on her desire to break every bone in Black Heron’s body. She recognized the fabric by its color and texture; that was from the dress Eliza had been wearing the night she died. She took the scrap, quickly shoving it in the pocket of her apron before Black Heron could take it back. “Where did you get that? Was it your trap?”_

_“Oh, heavens, no.” Black Heron cackled. “As delightful as it would be as it would be to destroy your life the way you destroyed mine, I do not mess around with fire these days. I just saw an opportunity to rub your face in it, that’s all.” She shrugged, blinking at Beakley with mock innocence. “Have you stopped at all to wonder why they rushed off all of a sudden to a FOWL lab? How we knew they’d have S.H.U.S.H. backup and got them all turned around until it was too late?”_

_Beakley crossed her arms, glaring. “What are you getting at?”_

_“Oh, 22, you sweet summer child.” Black Heron scoffed. “Maybe you don’t see it because you don’t want to. I’ll help you out; they were working for us. The classic double agent routine. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t sniff it out sooner.”_

_“You’re wrong,” Beakley insisted. “They would never.”_

_“Keep telling yourself that.” Black Heron stood, heading for the window – likely to climb out the way she came. The only reason Beakley was willing to let her escape was sleeping peacefully, one floor down. “But you’re no fool. Ask yourself, how did I have access to the wire your precious Eliza was wearing that night? How do I know her last words?” The corner of her beak turned upward in a cruel smile, and she glanced behind her before opening the window. “For the record, they were, ‘Webby, I’m sorry.’ No idea who that is, but bye now!”_

Beakley blinked back tears, pulling the scrap of dress out of her pocket and staring at it. “Webby’s idolized her parents. To her, they’ve always been heroes in the fight against evil who had to pay the ultimate price. And that’s exactly what I believe they are. I hate that Black Heron has ever made me doubt that, even for a moment. Setting aside the potential risks to her safety, do I even have the right to introduce that doubt to Webby, before I know for sure? _If_ I ever know for sure?”

“I can’t answer that for you.” Duckworth shook his head. “No matter what, it won’t be an easy conversation. But you said it yourself – she’s quite the sleuth. You may find the matter comes up whether you want it to or not.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured, turning her head to gaze out the window.

* * *

Della knew something was up from the moment she first began to watch Louie hanging out in her vicinity, casually acting like it was just a coincidence they were in the same room. She turned back to her movie – _Lost Dog’s Journey Home_ , she and Donald had worn the VHS of that one out when they were kids – and let him be for a good twenty minutes or so. Della wasn’t sure if she was waiting him out or sizing him up, really. Finally, she hit the mute button on the remote and looked directly at her youngest. “So is there some reason you’re lurking without a permit?”

Louie startled, looking at her with wide eyes. “Um, no...I just…like this movie?”

Della shrugged; that wasn’t it and she knew it, but she’d play his game. She patted the couch cushion next to her. “Oh. Wanna watch it with me, then?”

He blinked at her, clearly not expecting that. “Annnd, busted.” He chuckled nervously, though he did climb up beside her. “No offense, but I’ve kind of got it memorized. And then some. Uncle Donald used to play it all the time when we were little. And I do mean _all_ the _time_.”

Della laughed. “Can’t promise I wouldn’t have done the same. No worries. You don’t have to stay.” And there was her opening. Of her children, Louie was the toughest nut to crack, but she was learning. “Unless…there was something else?”

Louie frowned, looking up at her, then sighed. “Okay. But…it’s kind of dumb and you’ve got to swear you won’t laugh.”

Della desperately hoped this wouldn’t be funny, because she laughed easily, but there was no way she was going to betray his trust when she’d worked so hard to get this far with him. “I promise.”

“Do you like me?” 

He’d opened up like a flower, a morning glory that was going to close up again quickly, and Della absolutely wasn’t laughing. She gathered him into her arms, despite the pain the sudden movement caused her. “Oh, honey, of course I do. Louie…I love you so much. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Louie blushed, squirming a little so that he was beside her instead of in her lap, but he didn’t pull out of her embrace entirely. “I know. It’s just…there’s people you _love_ that you don’t _like._ I mean, Uncle Donald loves Uncle Gladstone, but I’m not sure he’d want to go on vacation with him.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Della ruffled his hair, but toward the back, to avoid messing up his signature look. “Yes, I like you. You’re a great kid. I can’t say I always understand you, but…hey, that’s probably mutual.”

Louie nodded. “I know…like I said, it’s dumb.”

She caressed his cheek. “If you’re worried about it, it’s not dumb. I know we don’t have as much in common as I do with your brothers, but…that’s part of what makes you unique. I do like you, even more than I like glazed donuts.”

That brought a smile to Louie’s face. “I assume you like glazed donuts a lot?”

“A _lot_ ,” Della confirmed, nodding.

Louie looked thoughtful. “You know, Huey said Fenton has a spray that can make anything taste like glazed donuts. It might be a valuable investment opportunity.”

Della was about to tease him about looking for a financial angle in anything, but then she remembered that Fenton was one of Gyro’s interns and her train of thought promptly derailed. At least _someone_ in that lab had taste. “You’re kidding me. _He_ couldn’t have invented Oxy-Chew?”

* * *

Scrooge had read up on Dr. Akita during the flight to Japan, and the fact that he’d had to get most of the information from classified channels didn’t bode well. Also, despite Gyro’s penchant for theatrics, he _had_ been an intern under Akita and thus familiar with the man’s work. If something had him so alarmed that he’d called for assistance, it had to be big. As much as Scrooge had worried at first this might be a waste of his time, he had serious concerns about what might be waiting for him in that lab. Gyro’s inventions regularly went rogue, to be sure, but he never meant for them to be evil. The same could not be said for Akita.

Akita wasn’t the first evil scientist Scrooge had deal with and he probably wouldn’t be the last. There was a spectrum of evil science, though. It ran the gamut from what Huey had dubbed “edgelords,” the ill-intentioned but ultimately harmless nuisances, to…well, Akita’s level. He sought to create things that would destroy others, often dramatically and painfully. He was in custody, fortunately, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t left behind anything that wouldn’t try to kill someone – specifically, Gyro and Scrooge.

The easiest way to access the lab was via a closed railway station, Gyro had said, and Scrooge began to wish he’d brought his action cane along. He typically reserved it for espionage adventures, but if he ended up having to fight a crazed robot, it might have been helpful. He followed the directions he’d been given, into a cramped room where Gyro was waiting. 

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Gyro groaned. “I hate this place. I mean, I know you have to work with the space you’ve got when you’re hiding from the authorities after committing crimes against humanity, but, really! This room is a disaster, not to mention the terrible lighting.”

Scrooge glanced around incredulously; that was about all he had room to do. “ _This_ is Dr. Akita’s lab? What a clatty bastard.”

Gyro shook his head. “No, fortunately, this is just the control room.” He hit a series of commands on the computer keyboard and one of the filing cabinets slid aside to reveal a hidden passageway. The lighting wasn’t much better, but at least the hallway looked a bit tidier. Scrooge followed Gyro to another room, bigger than the last, with a bank of computers and a large curtain concealing what looked like some kind of tank. It had pipes feeding into it and a large power source, judging by the hums it was making. There was an assortment of robotic limbs in various sizes and species lying around the room. “This is the main lab. Most of the work he did down here in the last twenty years, fortunately, led to dead ends, or had to do with his plans for 2-BO – er, Boyd. But this…yikes.”

Scrooge headed toward the tank, intending to pull the curtain back, but Gyro put a hand on his arm to stop him. Scrooge shot him a look. “Away an’ bile your head, Gearloose, quit yer dawdling!”

Gyro cocked his head at him. “I’m not sure what that means, but I feel like I should prepare you for what’s there. Dr. Akita managed to contact some pretty high-level dark agents. I won’t go into all the details of his correspondence with FOWL—”

“Please don’t.” Scrooge was concerned by the involvement of FOWL, but at the same time, they had their hands in a lot of nasty situations, and Scrooge didn’t want to spend all day letting Gyro explain.

Gyro continued, undeterred, “—but the short version is, they had recovered a couple of bodies from a lab explosion about nine years back. One was too far gone, but the other – they didn’t use a name, just an identifier number – they had cryogenically preserved and were attempting to rebuild. The damaged neural pathways proved too difficult to rebuild while preserving the organic brain tissue, until Akita got involved. He bought Gandra Dee’s nanites off the underground market – because of flipping _course_ Mark Beaks sold them – and since positronic relays were one of his specialties, Akita was able to – are you listening?”

Scrooge really wasn’t after the part about nanites; if there was a cyborg that FOWL had a vested interest in behind that curtain, he wanted to get a feel for the situation before it escalated. He pulled the curtain aside, gasping at the figure in suspended animation inside the tank. He stared for several seconds, as frozen in shock as he’d been when he first opened the door to find Della had made her way home. 

“Mr. McDuck?” Gyro moved to stand beside him. “Are you all right?”

“Curse me kilts.” Scrooge shook his head, stepping forward to put a hand on the glass. His mind was spinning, trying to process what he was seeing – as well as the implications of what was to follow. “That’s Eliza Vanderquack.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry not sorry about leaving the chapter there. But rest assured, I'm working quickly on the next one!


	10. Finding the Rhythm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience with the delay in getting this chapter out! Real life has been hectic, and I haven't had nearly as much time to write as I would have liked. And, as always, thank you for your support! In between chapters, I tend to throw out random headcanons at hearmeouteliza(dot)tumblr(dot)com, so feel free to swing by there. (And, yes, it's a Hamilton reference. That's who I named this story's Eliza after.)

* * *

“Eliza Vander-who-now?” Gyro frowned, squinting at Eliza’s face as if that would clear things up.

“Vanderquack,” Scrooge repeated, his eyes also focused on her face, albeit for a different reason. “My housekeeper’s daughter – and Webbigail’s mother.”

“Oh, _right_.” Gyro nodded. “The kid in pink, yes; I thought the name sounded familiar.”

Scrooge shook his head, trying to reconcile the vibrant young woman he’d known with the one who was literally frozen in front of them. “All these years, we thought she was dead.”

Gyro shrugged. “Well, technically, she was. According to the records, she was placed into cryostasis very shortly after her death. She’s never officially regained consciousness; Dr. Akita’s records indicate he kept her sedated while reviving her long enough to establish that the neural pathway reworking had been successful.”

“You said there was someone else with her?” Scrooge vaguely recalled that from Gyro’s rambling explanation. There were so few details about the night Eliza and Richard had died. Scrooge wanted to be able to fill in some of the blanks for his dear friend – and Eliza as well, should she be the person they remembered after all this. Especially if there was any chance Richard was still out there somewhere, in a state like this.

Gyro nodded, sighing in that put-upon way he had when forced to repeat himself. “Yes. As I mentioned, there was a second victim of the fire – a male, I believe – but there was too much damage for him to be a candidate for the project.”

“Oh.” It sounded so clinical when Gyro put it that way – but, then, he didn’t have a personal stake in the situation, either. As comforting as it was that Eliza wasn’t conscious enough to remember being experimented on, when she did awake, her last memory would be of dying. That wasn’t exactly a relief. Of course, that was still assuming she was the Eliza they remembered. Scrooge found himself keeping that as the default assumption, because to think otherwise made an already difficult situation even worse. But he wasn’t naïve, either, and he did have to ask. “Is there any way of knowing if her memories are intact? Is she still the woman we knew?”

Gyro frowned, scrolling through the tablet he’d picked up. “There’s no way to tell. The notes suggest that she was alert and able to be oriented when revived, but given that she was sedated at the time…” He shrugged. “Any number of personality issues might arise.”

As much as Scrooge wanted a firm answer, he could accept that, for now, there wasn’t one. “So it might be a stranger with her face.”

“Or a killing machine with her face,” Gyro pointed out. “I mean, Dr. Akita did program a robot _child_ to destroy Tokyolk.”

“There is that,” Scrooge agreed, however reluctantly. It was as much a possibility as anything else – and, while he didn’t want to think about having to take her down himself (or at all), they did need to know what the situation was before involving anyone else. “Can she be safely revived here?” He didn’t bother to ask if Gyro knew how to do it, because if he didn’t, he was going to have to learn. Scrooge wasn’t about to leave this lab without Eliza.

Gyro nodded, reviewing the information on the tablet once more. “I think so. But shouldn’t we have some sort of backup, just in case? I know you said you know her, but…”

Gyro was probably right, but that was a luxury they didn’t have at the moment. In the time it took for anyone else to get here, they could also be home. And, even if she was someone different now, Scrooge owed it to Eliza to bring her home. “I can handle it.” He was Scrooge McDuck. Whatever happened, he’d manage it somehow.

* * *

It never took long for Della to get bored under normal circumstances, but when recuperation limited her options even further, she was really beginning to get restless. She was able to get up and move around now, at least, for limited stretches of time. As much as she longed to really test the adjustments Huey had made to her prosthetic leg, Della knew the rest of her body wasn’t ready to cooperate with that quite yet. She had to accept progress as it came, just like after the Spear of Selene’s crash. At least this time, she had the comforts of home and the support of her family. On the other hand, she also had to deal with Earth’s gravity. (Learning to walk again had, at least, been aided by the moon’s environment.)

The grand piano in the foyer wasn’t used often these days, mostly holidays and special occasions. The piano bench saw a little more use, mostly as a launching spot for the children’s antics. That much hadn’t changed over the years. But Della had grown up taking lessons on that very same piano, and sometimes it was a good way to keep her fingers occupied while her mind worked on something else. Without sheet music, she usually returned to the “boring” classical music she’d fussed about in her youth. She could play it from memory and not have to worry about how it sounded or who might be listening. The memory of Ms. Mallardy, her old teacher, standing behind her and correcting each sour note would never leave her entirely.

As her fingers found the keys, her mind was free to wander. She’d never really taken time to decompress after coming home; she’d been too focused on making up for lost time. Then there had been the invasion – thinking of which, she needed to call Penny and see how she’d been settling in – and, then, life in general. As much as Della loved every moment of it, maybe this did provide a good chance to process everything, finally. She wasn’t great with that, though. Introspection had never been her strong suit; even alone on the moon, it was easier to focus on her next goal, whether that was getting home or just surviving long enough to do so. Even once she was home, patch jobs were less challenging – deal with the next crisis, figure out how to be a mom, get to know her kids. Those had all been important tasks, of course, but they also let her continue to put off sorting through everything else that was occupying space in her head. Was this accident finally going to force her to get to that? Perhaps, but it was in her nature to continue setting it aside a little bit longer. Was it healthy? Probably not. But it was how she’d dealt with a lot of things in her life, and she was stubborn to a fault. Besides, she didn’t want her family to have to worry about her any more than they already had.

Whether she’d planned for an audience or not, she got one. After a few minutes, two small bodies climbed up onto the piano bench beside her, one on either side – Huey and Webby. Della stopped playing, a little startled after being lost in her thoughts, but happy to see them nonetheless. “Hey.”

Webby’s eyes were wide and excited; Della hoped she never lost that sense of wonder. “Was that the Moonlight Sonata?”

Della blushed a little; she wasn’t surprised that Webby knew the tune. She’d probably heard a lot of classical music, growing up. Duckworth had always been fond of it. “Yeah, sometimes I play old songs while I think.” She never really chose any song in particular; she let her muscle memory do that. Defaulting to the Moonlight Sonata probably said something about her mental state, but she wasn’t ready to determine what.

Huey’s expression mirrored Webby’s. “That’s not a beginner’s song. You were playing it almost perfectly from memory!”

Della shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I took piano lessons when I was a kid, before I switched to percussion. Always thought that suited me better. Music was always Donald’s passion more than mine; for me, it was just something to do.”

“See?” Huey asked, looking at Webby. His expression was full of excitement. “I told you.”

Webby laughed, shaking her head at him. “And I said you were probably right.”

Before Della had to ask, Huey filled her in. “Once we realized you wrote the melody to our lullaby in addition to the lyrics, I figured you had to know something about music theory. Making up a tune is one thing, but those final cadences…well, it goes a little beyond the basic Junior Woodchuck music theory badge.”

Della chuckled. She’d noticed Huey’s musical intuition, but he’d always seemed more interested in other subjects, so she hadn’t really explored it with him. “That’s right, you were part of the Junior Woodchuck Philharmonic, weren’t you?” Donald had shown her videos of some of those performances; it didn’t make up for missing them live, but at least she’d gotten to see them.

Huey beamed. “First chair cello. Uncle Donald taught me how to play.”

That made sense; the cello had been Donald’s first instrument, before he turned to guitar – and of all the boys, it made sense that Huey would have taken to it. Della enjoyed these little moments, where she got to learn more about her kids, but also had enough knowledge now that she didn’t feel like such a stranger in their lives. “He showed me some of the tapes.”

Huey glanced at Webby. “You played cello too, right?”

Webby nodded. “Yeah, I took lessons for years. It wasn’t my most favorite hobby, but it’s such a _dignified_ instrument!”

Della couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of both Huey and Webby learning the cello when they were younger; she was always amused by watching a child handle an instrument that was significantly larger than themselves. She had been even when she and Donald were young. “That’s great. Maybe we should arrange a family jam session sometime.” 

Webby’s eyes widened with excitement. “That’d be awesome!”

Della grinned, ruffling Webby’s hair. After a moment, she idly began playing the tune to her lullaby, but with a faster tempo. 

Huey cocked his head, noticing immediately, and he smiled, nodding his head in time to the beat. “I like it.”

Della watched him, her smile widening. “That’s actually the original version,” she admitted. “I wrote it on a whim, before you guys were even a thought. Never could find the right lyrics for it, until I slowed it down for a lullaby. I just needed the right inspiration.” She chuckled. “There were a lot of pretty terrible first drafts. Some of them were kind of funny, though. Maybe I’ll teach you those ones when you’re older.” She frowned a little, thinking of one in particular. “Much older.”

Huey snuggled against Della’s side, surprising her, but she certainly welcomed it and didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around him. She extended her other arm as well, inviting Webby closer. Webby didn’t have to be asked twice, and she quickly moved in to take advantage. Maybe they needed the extra reassurance, despite the fact that things were beginning to get back to normal. Or maybe they just wanted to be cuddled. These moments were only going to get rarer as they grew up, so Della wasn’t going to question it.

“’Moonlight Sonata’ was one of Duckworth’s favorites, y’know,” Webby told Huey, before smiling up at Della. “Is that why you learned how to play it?”

Della nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to surprise him with it on his birthday.” She sighed, though fondly. “I really miss the old guy sometimes. I know he’s not really _gone_ , but it’s just…different.” So much had changed from the world she held so fast to in her mind, surviving each lonely day in the wastelands of the moon. Deep down, she’d known things wouldn’t be exactly the same, but it still caught her off-guard occasionally.

Webby nodded as well. “I know what you mean. Having a ghost butler is great, but…I still miss having him around every day.”

Huey looked wistful. “I wish I could have known him.”

Her son’s words, however innocent, hit Della hard. She longed for that, too; she was still struggling to process the years her family had spent estranged over her. She tightened her hold on Huey a little. “Yeah, me too.”

“You know what this means, right?” Webby’s eyes were wide with excitement as she glanced at Della for confirmation.

“What’s that?” Della had gotten to know Webby well enough by now to anticipate her ideas most of the time, but not always.

“Story time!” Webby cheered, practically bouncing in place.

That, Della could totally get behind, and she accepted the high-five Webby offered. “Good plan.”

* * *

Scrooge was trying not to sit and stare at Eliza until she woke, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to wake up alone. She wasn’t his girl in the way that Della was and Webby had become, but she was _Beakley’s_ girl, and Scrooge felt a strong protective instinct toward her.

Every moment he didn’t tell Beakley about this felt like a minor betrayal, but he wanted to wait until there _was_ something to tell her. The situation was going to be enough of a shock without adding the stress of wondering what Eliza’s mental state would be when she came around. Besides, he reasoned, it would be better to wait until they were back in Duckburg, because he knew no force on Earth would keep Beakley from her daughter once she heard the news.

Scrooge hadn’t met Eliza until she was five; she’d been born during a time when his work and Beakley’s kept taking them in different directions. He’d sent flowers and his congratulations, figuring he’d meet the little tyke eventually. Frankly, he hadn’t cared much for children until Della and Donald arrived a year later and he began to discover the joys of being an uncle. But when Beakley showed up on his doorstep a few weeks after her husband, a S.H.U.S.H. research scientists, had been murdered by FOWL…

_Scrooge could have asked Duckworth to get the door, but he happened to be in the foyer, casually assessing it for dangers to his young wards now that they were finally in bed. He certainly wasn’t going to childproof the entire mansion – Donald and Della were going to have to learn some self-preservation skills – but, perhaps, the giant swords should be kept out of reach until the children were older. Just when he felt he was starting to get the hang of raising two four-year-olds, the universe did its best to remind him that he was not a childcare expert._

_He wasn’t sure who he’d expected to find on his doorstep this late in the evening, though if they knew the gate code, that narrowed the list down. He blinked in surprise at seeing Bentina Beakley when he opened the door, a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. “Twenty-Two?” He stepped aside, allowing her in. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but what are you doing here?”_

_“I need a favor,” she said, glancing around as if to be sure the room was secure._

_Scrooge smiled. “Don’t worry – the mansion is equipped with the latest in security technology. If there’s a breach, I’ll know about it right away.” His smile faded as he remembered the last time he’d seen her, at her husband’s memorial. They hadn’t had a chance to talk; he’d needed to get back to the twins, who were still settling into the mansion. “I was sorry to hear about—”_

_She held up a hand, cutting him off; the sadness in her eyes suggested it was a subject she wasn’t ready to discuss. “Thank you, but I can’t stay too long. I know this place is secure, but I can’t risk being tracked.”_

_Scrooge nodded. “What’s the favor?” He peered at the bundle she carried, unable to see what was inside. “And what’s that?”_

_Beakley’s expression softened as she pulled the blanket away, revealing a sleeping duckling. “She’s my daughter.”_

_“Oh, so this is the wee bairn.” Scrooge smiled as he looked at her. “She’s lovely.”_

_Beakley smiled at the praise, but she was back to business quickly. “I hate to leave her, especially now, but I have a lead on the FOWL agent who planted the bomb in Phillip’s lab.”_

_Scrooge hardly disapproved, but he couldn’t help but try to make her smile with a gentle tease. “I thought revenge was against protocol.”_

_She gave him a look, but the corners of her beak turned upward. “It isn’t revenge if I have reason to believe he has other S.H.U.S.H. targets in mind.”_

_“Fair enough,” Scrooge agreed. “But are you sure I’m the best choice for a babysitter? I’ve barely gotten a handle on my own two!”_

_Beakley chuckled, but then her expression grew serious. “You’re the only one I trust with her.”_

Scrooge didn’t intend to betray that trust as long as Eliza was in his care, even now that she was an adult. He would take care of her, even if she wasn’t the same woman they’d been grieving these past nine years.

As Eliza finally roused, Scrooge moved into her line of sight. It was disconcerting watching her bionic eye – the left one – shift like a camera shutter as it adjusted to the light, but he didn’t look away. “Welcome back, lass.”

Eliza frowned. “Mr. McDuck?” Well, that was a good sign. She looked around at her surroundings, sitting up and moving into a defensive stance. As soon as she saw Gyro, she was on her feet, despite being unsteady, and shoved him into the wall. “You! You’re the mad scientist. What did you do to me?”

Gyro looked frantically toward Scrooge. “A little help here?”

Scrooge didn’t feel it was prudent to point out to Gyro that if Eliza had wanted to harm him, she probably would have already. He moved over quickly, and just in time to catch Eliza as she lost her balance, as well as her grip on Gyro’s vest. “Easy there, lass.” He guided her back to the lab bench, helping her to sit. “You’re safe here. We’re in Tokyolk, but we’ll be heading back to Duckburg as soon as you’re ready to travel.”

Eliza shook her head. “We can go now. And I need to contact headquarters; I have a message for Director VonDrake.”

“He’s retired,” Scrooge told her gently. He could tell her later that Ludwig VonDrake had died a few years ago. “It’s been awhile, I’m afraid. Nine years.”

“Nine – _nine_ – oh, no. No, no, no.” Eliza shook her head. “My daughter!”

Scrooge pulled out his wallet, showing her a picture of Webby with the triplets. “She’s a fine young lady.”

“Webby,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the photo. Her eyes filled with tears – even the bionic one – but she blinked them back, her expression growing serious. “We leave now.”

* * *


	11. The Summer Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that break between chapters went on for far longer than planned. I'm sorry, and thank you so much to those who have reached out to me! I really appreciate your patience. I'm in my last class of grad school, and that and work have been kicking my butt lately. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.
> 
> If you want to know for sure when I've updated, I'm on tumblr at hearmeouteliza, where my recent claim to fame is that Frank Angones actually answered my question about us getting to see Beakley with her hair down. (It's an aesthetic I crave.)
> 
> (And, yes, I have no shame about my Hamilton references, as much as naming Eliza's father Phillip was not actually intentional.)

* * *

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera liked to think of himself as prepared for anything; he had to be, given his alternate life as Gizmoduck. But, in all honestly, he had not been expecting to have his boss and Scrooge McDuck (also his boss, in a way) return from Tokyolk with a bionic woman in tow. Both Gyro and Scrooge seemed flustered in different ways, and the woman in question was…irritable. Not that Fenton held it against her. He probably would be, too, after dying, having been cryogenically frozen for nine years, and having about 40% of his body replaced with cybernetics. Actually, once he looked at it from that perspective, Fenton was surprised Eliza Vanderquack wasn’t _angrier_. She’d been conscious for less than a day, though; there was still time. And, as much as Fenton admired him, he could admit that his time working under Dr. Gearloose had left him with a great deal of experience handling fractious individuals.

Frankly, Fenton would have been happy to release Eliza to her family immediately, but he understood why a full battery of tests had to be run. He knew that if he had been separated from his M'ma for nine years, no force on Earth would have kept her from him, but at the same time, if this _were_ an imposter or a trick, releasing her would likely do more harm than good. Still, he wanted to build a rapport with her, so he was trying to empathize. “Mrs. Vanderquack, or…would you prefer Agent?”

She sighed, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. “I’m not on the clock. Eliza’s fine.”

“Okay.” Fenton nodded; it was the first question of his she’d actually answered. She’d been sitting in stony silence, tolerating his tests but refusing to respond to him, for the past hour. This was progress. “I’m Fenton. I know I mentioned that, but…if we’re going to be on a first name basis, I thought we could—”

“What do you _want_ from me?” She crossed her arms, her bionic eye shifting to match the glare the organic one started. It was a pretty close match, actually, with only a fraction of a second’s delay; if Fenton hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have caught it at all.

Fenton held his hands up in front of him, trying to choose his words, when he realized it was best to just be earnest. “Hear me out, Eliza. That’d be enough.” If she let him say his piece and continued to clam up, at least he’d have tried his best.

Eliza nodded, slowly, eying him in a way that suggested she was sizing him up. She looked wary, but perhaps a little curious as well. “Fine. You have two minutes.” She glanced at the clock on the wall as if to suggest she would indeed be timing him.

“Okay. I can do that.” Talking fast would serve Fenton well in this case. “So, I understand you’ve been through a lot. Honestly, I don’t know how I’d handle it if I were you. I’m, like, _seriously_ impressed that you’re this calm. And, really, it’s not my idea to run these tests and I do appreciate your cooperation, but I think that maybe if you didn’t see all this as an obstacle but, really, just a safety precaution that’s keeping your family…well, _safe_. I mean, Mr. McDuck wouldn’t insist on this if he didn’t care about them, and I know you do too – obviously, that’s your family; of course you would. What I’m saying is, this could probably be easier for both of us if maybe we could get along, and – hey, it’s supposed to be a secret, but since basically everyone knows, I have a super suit that has bionic interfaces, and, _wow_ , would I like to see how it works with…well, your…interface. Not that I don’t see you as a person! You are, and you’re one that’s been through a lot, and I know we’ve just met, but you seem really nice, and basically, help me help you is what I think I’m saying?” He sighed, catching his breath, and watched for her reaction.

She nodded again, more calmly this time, and looked pointedly at the clock. “Well, then. Time’s up and it was a lovely story.” She hopped off of the lab bench, glancing around. “Where’s the door? I’ll show myself out.”

If he had to fight her to stop her, Fenton highly suspected he’d lose without Gizmoduck’s assistance. Not that he wanted to fight her at all. She had found the door – it wasn’t exactly hidden – and was heading toward it. As he tried to think of the right words or move to stop her, in frustration, he blurted out, “Oh, fiddlesticks.”

Eliza froze, turning to look back at him. “I’m sorry, _what_ did you just say?”

Fenton chuckled, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, it’s nothing; it’s just something I picked up from one of Huey’s friends; actually, she… _¡Ay, Dios mío!_ ” He’d been told Eliza was part of Scrooge’s extended family, and she’d been the one to mention having a young daughter she needed to get back to, but the pieces suddenly clicked into place and felt as if he should have recognized it sooner. Webby’s last name was Vanderquack. And that old-fashioned expression she’d picked up from her British grandmother… “Your mother says that, doesn’t she? Webby’s your daughter.”

Eliza bit her lower lip firmly, but she nodded. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I…I’ve been out of her life for too long. Every minute more is one too many. And my _mother_ , what is she going to think?”

Fenton stepped closer, not touching her, but offering support if she needed it. He understood the caution necessary, but this was the piece that had been overlooked. Not only had Eliza been traumatized, a family had been torn apart. “I, uh…I only lost one of my parents, but…my _abuela,_ if something had happened that let my father come home…she’d have given anything for that. I don’t actually know your mother that well, but I have to think it’s the same for her. She obviously loves your daughter a lot; if anything, she’s maybe a little overprotective.” He didn’t want to rip open any more emotional wounds, but being himself had gotten him this opening, and he was going to take it. “Maybe that’s because she lost you. And…she never really said anything specific, but…I always got the impression Webby’s seen you as a hero. It’s not like you left them on purpose. They’re going to be pretty shocked, yeah, but I think this’ll be the best kind of shocked for them. And, all this…” He gestured around the lab. “It’s just a precaution, because Mr. McDuck, he has his own way of showing it, but he really cares about his family, and they’re part of it. And you.”

Eliza’s posture relaxed, and she sighed, returning to her seat on the lab bench. “And even a rookie S.H.U.S.H. agent would want to be sure it wasn’t a trap.” She ran her hands over her face. “I should have realized that. I…guess I did, I just…”

Fenton shrugged. “You’re allowed to be emotional about this, you know. Like you said…you’re off-duty, Eliza.”

That got a chuckle out of her. “I suppose I am. Well, do your thing.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the lab equipment. “But I’m definitely not putting on your super-suit, so forget that.”

Fenton laughed, nodding as he picked up a scanner. “Fair enough.” They could revisit that another time.

* * *

Beakley adored the children – if only privately, she could admit that Scrooge’s nephews felt like the grandsons she’d never had, and her love for Webby went without saying. Any parent needed a bit of downtime, however, and the few minutes she took for herself before bed were her own. She closed the door and, by now, the family knew that, unless it was an emergency, they’d do well not to disturb her. As she let down her hair, beginning to brush it out before turning in for the night, a knock turned her head. “Yes?” she asked archly, with just enough inflection in her tone to discourage potential nonsense. It had been a casual knock, not one of urgency, and unless Webby had picked up a _very_ British way to announce a fire or other disaster, the odds of calamity were low.

“Bentina?” Scrooge opened the door a crack at her question, peering in. He looked uncharacteristically subdued, and he was using her first name. Whatever this was, it might not have been an emergency, but it was important. She nodded for him to come in and he did, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I didn’t think this should wait until morning.”

Beakley assessed him. Scrooge was usually easy to read, but while his affect didn’t hint at tragedy, whatever had brought him to her door, this was big, and she couldn’t suss out exactly what it might be. “On a scale of Prague to Cairo, how significant are we talking?” It was an old joke between them, from a mission that had been rather enjoyable to yet another time they’d barely escaped with their lives.

Scrooge sighed. “Budapest.”

As the kids would have said, _yikes_. Budapest wasn’t part of the scale, and for good reason. All she could say about that one was the old S.H.U.S.H. motto – “Any mission you walk away from is ultimately a success.” (And Dr. VonDrake’s private addition to it, shared with those he’d come to confide in, _“But don’t leave behind da goods if you can help it, you dummies!”_ ) “I see.” She held up a hand, asking him to wait a moment, and scanned the room before grabbing a small plastic figurine Webby had given her some years earlier and lobbing it at the air vent. It bounced off harmlessly, and she didn’t hear any surprised squeaks, so she nodded and gestured for Scrooge to sit. 

“Checking for bugs?” he asked.

“Checking for Webby,” she admitted. “She’s mostly stopped crawling through the vents after bedtime, but one can’t be too careful with that child.”

Scrooge smiled. “Aye, she’ll make a fine agent someday if that’s what she chooses.”

Beakley nodded. “Frankly, I hope she won’t. I taught her those skills to keep her alive, not so she’d follow my path.” 

“I know.”

She shook her head; she was still feeling more fragile than she’d have liked, and alone with Scrooge, she could allow her façade to crack a bit. “Maybe if I’d trained Eliza sooner…”

Scrooge reached out, taking her hand, and Beakley steeled herself. She absolutely was _not_ going to cry this soon into the conversation, not before he’d gotten to the important part. It would just make things awkward. But this tenderness, it was a rare side of him, and it warmed her heart. “Actually, this is about Eliza.”

Beakley gasped. She’d tried to find Eliza and Richard’s murderers – yes, FOWL had been responsible, but she wanted to know who, _exactly_ – but she’d been forced to let the trail go cold when she found a file that indicated FOWL knew about Webby and that she was in Beakley’s care. She’d started Webby’s training the next day. “You found her killers, didn’t you?” She reached for her tea; she was going to need a bracer. Probably something stronger, once this conversation was done.

“No.” Scrooge shook his head. “I found _her_.”

The teacup fell from her hand, clattering against the vanity and spilling everywhere. She paid it no mind. Beakley had been denied the chance to bury her daughter and son-in-law; she’d at least had that closure with her husband. The ashes had been delivered to her in a S.H.U.S.H.-embossed urn reserved for fallen agents, kept safe on her bookshelf only a few feet away. But she’d never been able to kiss her daughter’s face goodbye, stroke her hair one last time. The closest she’d gotten to that was a charred square of turquoise fabric. “That’s…it’s impossible, her body was too badly burned…”

Scrooge took her hand in both of his. “She was badly burned, yes. But…for some reason, one I’ve yet to uncover, FOWL put her body in cryostasis. They didn’t have the technology to revive her, given the damage. But…they were in contact with Dr. Akita, and…”

“No.” Beakley shook her head. She’d had her heart broken too many times to believe this could end well. “If you’re about to tell me that madman turned my little girl into one of his killer robots, you can stop right there. You can walk out of this room and let me believe she’s right _there_.” She nodded in the direction of the urn. “Give me tonight, let me have that much. Tomorrow, you can tell me all that.” There was no way she’d be able to live without having the facts for long, but surely she could have a few more hours of blissful ignorance? Tomorrow was Eliza and Richard’s wedding anniversary; she’d expected to be fighting off her gloom anyway.

Scrooge shook his head as well. “No, that’s not what happened. I’d feared that as well, when we first found her. Gyro was able to revive her, and…if Akita intended to program her after rebuilding her…he hadn’t gotten to it yet. It’s her, as near as we can tell.”

The tears spilled over, and Beakley was beyond trying to stop them. She continued shaking her head. This was a dream. She’d fallen asleep at her vanity and she was going to wake up to cold tea and a silver urn, mocking her. “No. No…there’s…there’s no way. It’s a FOWL trick. They’re going to use her to get to Webby. They’ve…cloned her somehow, they…”

Scrooge squeezed her hand, reorienting her. “That’s exactly why I had Gyro and Fenton run a wealth of tests before I even came to you. The DNA proves it’s her, without any ‘clone markers,’ whatever those might be. The first person she asked about was Webby. She’s understandably distressed, given all that’s happened and all the years she missed, but I talked with her on the plane back, and she’s every bit the Eliza I knew. She’s still at the lab, with Fenton.”

“But?” Beakley prompted. There was an unasked question in his eyes, and despite his assurances – and the precautions he’d taken – she had to know what it was.

“But, if this is somehow a very good duplicate, I suspect only her mother would know,” Scrooge admitted. He sighed. “Bentina, I would never intentionally give you hope only to snatch it away. I’m sure it is her, against all odds. But before I bring her back here and anywhere near this family, especially your granddaughter…”

Beakley nodded, biting her lower lip as she tried to collect herself. “Good thinking.” She’d have insisted on the same thing, ultimately. She could deal with her own heartbreak if it came to that; grief felt like an old friend sometimes. But she couldn’t do that to Webby and she couldn’t risk Webby’s safety if it were a ruse. “Give me five minutes.” Beakley was eager to go, to hug the stuffing out of her daughter if this was real and unleash her wrath on the duplicate if it wasn’t, but she certainly wouldn’t allow herself to be seen outside in her dressing gown. She had standards, after all.

* * *

Eliza had been pacing the room like a caged lion for the last several minutes, since they’d gotten word her mother was enroute. She understood, knew that her mother would need to give the final seal of approval before she could see her daughter, but she was anxious. She stared at the circuitry of her left arm, flexing her fingers. Yes, her mother’s love would be unconditional – Eliza trusted that – but she felt like a stranger in a strange land. Perhaps that would fade, but as much as she knew her brain was intact – if repaired by nanites, as weird as that was – every bit of that mechanical arm, as smoothly as it moved, screamed _robot_ to her. The touch sensors were perfect; if she closed her eyes, it _felt_ no different from her right arm, the one she’d been born with. If she let herself think about it, she could feel the exact spot the prosthetic connected to what was left of her left shoulder and the bionic interface there. Mostly, that sensation faded into the background, like clothes did after awhile. The technology and the level to which it integrated with her flesh was impressive. She’d been a touch farsighted in her left eye, not enough to require glasses, but apparent when she closed the other. Now? Not so much. It was an improvement, if anything, and though she sometimes could hear the tiniest whir as that eye adjusted, her brain processed the input seamlessly. She chuckled darkly, looking herself over in the mirror. “Guess I don’t look much like Lindsay Quackner, huh?” He was probably too young for that joke – technically, so was she – but her mother had enjoyed the show so they’d watched many reruns together.

“Oh, from _The Bionic Duck_?” Fenton chuckled. “I mean, she’s attractive, sure, but you’re much better looking – I mean, not that I’m trying to be inappropriate, because I’m _not_ , but—”

“It’s okay.” He was growing on her. Though her father had died when she was young, Fenton reminded her of the few memories she had of him. “Compliment accepted. And thank you.” She smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d even know who she was.”

He shrugged, returning her smile. “My M’ma used to watch the reruns all the time, that and _Miss Mallard Mysteries_. Before she discovered _Patos_.” His expression suggested what he thought of that one. Eliza didn’t know it, but it certainly sounded like a telenovela.

Eliza shook her head, unable to hide a grin. “ _Miss Mallard_ was banned in my household.” She adapted her mother’s accent, wagging a finger at Fenton as her other hand went to her hip. “I’ll not have that posh pretender teaching you that any old biddy can just wake up and decide she’s going to solve crimes.”

Fenton laughed, but then he jumped, his eyes widening as he looked over Eliza’s shoulder.

“Now, really, Eliza. I never used the word ‘posh;’ you’ve picked up Mr. McDuck’s alliteration.” The words were shaky with emotion, but the humor remained.

Eliza froze, hearing the voice she remembered as clearly as if it were yesterday. Of course, for her…it had been. She turned, tears in her eyes. “Mama?” She wanted to run to her, throw herself into her mother’s arms, but she restrained herself. Her mother was here for one last test and once that was finished, they could have everything else.

“Elizabeth Catherine.” There were tears in her mother’s eyes as well, but her tone was the same one that could stop Eliza in her tracks. “If this is a trick…”

“Too easy.” Eliza laughed through her tears. “You know damn well my full name is Elizabeth Phillipa Catherine, and if you’re trying to test me with that because Phillipa isn’t on any of my official documents, that’s amateur hour.” She’d been given her father’s name, but never on paper, for reasons like this. Though she’d certainly heard it when she was in trouble as a child. Still, her mother was too clever to go on that alone. There had to be something more, and Eliza just wanted it out of the way so she could see her baby girl again. Though Webby certainly wasn’t a baby anymore…

“Good catch.” Her mother nodded approvingly. “Then tell me this – the doll you gave to Webbigail, your old lovey, what was her name?”

Eliza shook her head. Now _that_ was the kind of test she’d been expecting. “Her name was Deedee, and I never gave her to Webby because Richard accidentally put her in a charity bin, and it was our first fight, I even called you crying, and…” She knew from the shaky, tearful smile she got she’d passed. “Oh, Mama.” She didn’t have to fling herself into her mother’s arms, because by the time she could have, her mother had already enveloped her in an embrace. Eliza sobbed, holding onto her mother's increasingly damp purple cardigan for dear life and not caring who saw her breakdown. She’d awakened to find her toddler a preteen, her husband dead, and a world that had gone on without her. She was entitled to a minor breakdown.

* * *

In a perfect world, they’d have waited until morning to introduce Webby to her mother – or reintroduce her, technically. Had it been any other significant change, Beakley would have insisted upon letting Webby sleep; the girl usually woke with the dawn anyhow. But Eliza had been through too much to make her wait. It was barely midnight; while Eliza might have agreed to let Webby sleep, it would be torture to keep them apart any longer than necessary. And if Webby awoke and stumbled upon Eliza on her own…well, that would not be ideal.

Webby wasn’t asleep in her own bed, and Beakley sighed. Of course nothing about this would be easy. That meant she’d probably joined an impromptu “sleepover” with the triplets, and Huey was a very light sleeper. He might be encouraged to go back to sleep, and Louie could sleep through a marching band coming through the room, but if Dewey woke up, there was no keeping the boys away until morning. At least Scrooge would shepherd them away if Eliza got too overwhelmed.

As she’d suspected, Beakley found Webby curled up on the air mattress Donald had been using while Della was in the hospital. She gently scooped her granddaughter up, shushing her the way she had when Webby had been smaller, and she was nearly out of the room when Huey stirred. Even S.H.U.S.H. precision had nothing on a Junior Woodchuck who’d sensed a disturbance. Beakley passed Webby off to Scrooge, who put her on his shoulder, trying to lull her back to sleep until they were downstairs, and Beakley reached into the top bunk, rubbing Huey’s back the way she’d seen Donald do when he struggled to sleep. She had the gentle pattern down, along with the rhythmic shushing, a mother in her element, when Dewey’s sleepy voice asked, “Huh, who painted the kitten?”

Oh, good, he wasn’t fully awake yet. Beakley shifted position, continuing to rub Huey’s back, and reached out with her other arm to do the same to Dewey…only to find herself beak-to-beak a moment later with a tired but suspicious duckling. “Mrs. B? What’re you doing?”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Beakley sighed quietly. If she hadn’t been off her game, she’d have remembered that Dewey needed his hair stroked, not the back rub, and while she was blinking at Dewey, she’d stopped soothing Huey. Now they were both up – exactly the scenario she’d hoped to avoid – and…oh, Dewey had hopped out of his bunk and onto Louie, true brotherhood. Louie’s squawks woke Webby, and Beakley sighed, shrugging at Scrooge as Webby hopped out of his arms. Two S.H.U.S.H. agents on a stealth mission and they’d been thwarted by children. At least they’d be able to laugh about this later.

* * *

Dewey knew something was up from the moment he woke up to find Scrooge sneaking Webby out of the room and Beakley…apparently trying to keep him asleep? Weird. Too weird, actually. He springboarded off Louie – because he could, honestly – and out of bed.

Webby rubbed her eyes, hopping to the floor to join Dewey – and Huey, who was climbing down from his bunk. Louie was rolling out of bed, still glaring indignantly. Oh, well. He’d have been more upset if they’d left him out of this, whatever it was. “Granny? Uncle Scrooge? What’s going on?”

Beakley picked Webby up, which also seemed sketch under the circumstances. It wasn’t exactly strange for her to do that in general, but given that they’d just been trying to sneak her out of the room, it was odd. “There’s been a…development. Nothing bad, I promise. I had just hoped to get Webby into her own room.”

“Why, ‘cause ours was about to explode or something? And you were leaving us in it? Rude.” Okay, that was a bit out there as far as theories went, but to be fair, Dewey had just woke up.

“Lads.” Scrooge shook his head, but he was smiling. “Trust me, we’d planned to tell you everything over breakfast. We’ve just had a…dear family friend…find us, and she was hoping to see Webbigail tonight.”

“Yes,” Beakley agreed, nodding – but she shot Scrooge the look they gave each other when they were agreeing on a cover story, the one they’d thought the boys hadn’t figured out yet. Well, they probably wouldn’t have, if Webby hadn’t clued them in.

“It’s okay, Granny,” Webby said, way too chipper for this time of the night. “We’re family, right? They can come along.”

Beakley softened, smiling at her. “Yes, of course, dear.”

And, with that, they were off to Webby’s room, padding down the stairs in their pajamas. A woman was sitting on Webby’s bed when they entered, her metal arm drawing Dewey’s immediate attention. Whoever she was, he liked her already. Beakley smiled, setting Webby down. “We had a few tagalongs, love…they’re Della’s boys. They’ve been like brothers to Webby these past few years.”

Webby froze, cocking her head as the woman kneeled down, tearfully opening her arms. “Who’s…”

“The cyborg?” Dewey supplied helpfully, remembering when he first saw his mother – at least in the present. Suddenly, he looked at the stranger, remembering the pictures Webby had shown them in her family photo album. “Wait, is that…?”

“I think it’s her mother,” Huey said softly. 

Without discussion, the triplets backed away, not leaving the room, but they huddled together. They were there for Webby, without question, but they’d give her this moment. The questions, they could come later.

“Mommy?” Webby whispered, sounding like a lost child.

The woman nodded, choking back a sob, and held Webby tightly as she raced into her arms. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to leave you, never.”

Dewey swallowed a lump of emotion himself. He was going to be a _guy_ and not happy-cry all over the place, but…this struck a familiar nerve. And…well, there went that plan, Huey had started the waterworks, and if Huey cried, Louie was going to, and…yup, there was Louie, and now Dewey was crying. It had to be genetic; Uncle Donald said they’d set each other off like this since they were hatchlings.

Beakley was crying, too – well, given the situation, that was expected. And was Scrooge wiping away a tear? They were a mess. All they needed was for…oh, yup, there was Mom.

Della frowned. “Hey, the boys weren’t in their room, and – oh, my God, _Eliza_?”

Eliza – apparently Webby’s mother’s name – looked up, still holding Webby tightly. “ _Della_?”

“I thought you were dead,” they both said, then laughed awkwardly. 

_Is this just weird sitcom plot night?_ Dewey thought. Though the mother-returning-from-the-dead thing was a bit much for the average sitcom.

“I was on the moon.” Della shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “You? And…oh…” She looked around, at Webby and then Beakley and began to back away, toward her children. “Oh, yikes, yeah, tender moment in progress. I’ll just, um…see you later.”

“It’s fine.” Eliza laughed, though tears were still streaming down her cheeks. She kissed Webby’s head, and Webby snuggled further into her arms, her eyes frozen on her mother’s face. Just the way Dewey hadn’t wanted to let go or look away when his mom came home. And…welp, he was crying again, as he pressed up against her and she pulled him close. “Cryofreeze, in case you wanted your day to get weirder.”

Webby seemed to snap out of her trance, blinking and grinning excitedly. “Wait, you were cyrofrozen? That is _awesome_!”

Eliza laughed, but then looked at Beakley. “Please tell me you didn’t turn her into a junior agent.”

Beakley frowned. “I…trained her, for her own protection.” She shrugged. “Her obsession with cryogenics, though…I had nothing to do with that.”

Webby nodded enthusiastically. “I also like mermaids, even if they’re not what I expected, and vampires – and, oh, I never introduced myself, but, wait, you’re my _mom_ , you know me, and…” Her eyes teared up again, and she wrapped her hand around her mother’s metal arm. “Is this really real?”

Eliza nodded, hugging Webby again. “I’m here, baby.”

Webby frowned. “What…about my dad?”

Eliza winced and Dewey knew that couldn’t be a good sign. “I’m sorry, Webby. He’s…really gone.”

Webby sniffled, holding her mother tightly, but then her smile returned. “Well…this morning, I didn’t have either one of you, and now I have you, right?”

“Right,” Eliza agreed, stroking her cheek.

“And, hey,” Della whispered to Dewey, “at least she doesn’t have to learn a set of new names…right, _Turbo_?”

Dewey shook his head, smiling as he leaned against her and wrapped his other arm around Huey, who was closest. This really was the weirdest family, and he freaking loved it.

* * *


	12. Knowing Me, Knowing You

* * *

Breakfast was usually served promptly at 0700, unless the day’s planned activities meant it needed to be earlier, but given the night they’d had, no one had any objections to it being moved closer to nine. The children had eventually gotten back to sleep, and Eliza’s physical exhaustion had also won out. Her mother hadn’t gotten much rest, but she’d be fine; she’d done more with less. At least she was usually allowed the luxury of a good night’s sleep these days.

Sitting alone in her room hadn’t done Beakley much good; she kept creeping down to the guest bedroom to check on Eliza – or staring at the silver urn on her shelf, wondering who or what was really in there. She’d eventually moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to see what she might be able to bake to keep herself occupied. It had been a long time since she’d made muffins at three o’clock in the morning, each scrape of the spoon against the bowl reclaiming her serenity a little bit, but at least the reason in this case was far more pleasant.

Beakley was a little surprised – though she probably shouldn’t have been – when Scrooge joined her after a few minutes, carrying a bottle of amber liquid. She didn’t need to see the label to know what it was. “I thought you could use the good stuff.”

He wasn’t wrong. It would be nice to have a drink to celebrate, for once, rather than to escape. Neither of them drank much – at least not anymore, though she had been keeping a close eye on him in the initial aftermath of Della’s disappearance. When Eliza had “died,” she’d certainly joined him a few times after Webby was tucked into bed, letting the decades-old scotch numb their pain. Scrooge had never referred to himself as anything other than Donald and Della’s uncle, but he was a father to them as much as Donald was to the triplets. Beakley and Scrooge had been close before, but those nights they’d spent together as grieving parents had further cemented their bond like nothing else could. There was that, at least – and perhaps having survived the heartbreak made the joy of reunion even more vivid. “I’ll get the glasses.”

* * *

Della gasped softly as she woke up; it was starting to become less frequent these days, but she still had moments where she awoke and had to remind herself she wasn’t on the moon. Whether it was a phantom experience or somehow residually embedded into her taste buds, she always tasted that licorice in her mouth when she woke. Not that she’d slept much on the moon; even when she had a proper bed after moving in with Penumbra, sleeping while keeping the Oxy-Chew clamped firmly between her cheek and her teeth was quite a feat. Inevitably, it fell out, leaving her to wake up air-hungry and having to start the process of getting settled all over again.

She’d managed to get back to sleep after the excitement earlier, but her head was still spinning. Della and Eliza had played together as children, and though they hadn’t seen each other nearly as often as adults, they’d stayed friends. When she’d come home, Della had been sad to learn that Eliza had been killed in the line of duty; it was always a possibility, of course, but she’d never thought it would happen to her friend. It had been a delight getting to know Webby, and now Eliza was back and – well, if she had some trouble adjusting, that was definitely something Della could understand. Their circumstances were quite different, just as they themselves had been, but the uncertainty of being dropped into the middle of her family’s life, already in progress, was all too familiar for Della.

Della had stumbled upon the reunion accidentally. She’d been trying to peek in on her boys, now that she could manage the stairs again, but when they hadn’t been in their room, she’d thought she might check Webby’s. And she’d been checking on them not only because she enjoyed doing so, but for a bit of reassurance after a nightmare where she hadn’t been able to push Louie out of that car’s path in time. It had shaken her much more deeply than the prospect of still being on the moon, and she’d known she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep until she’d seen for herself that her children were safe and sound. And they were, along with another surprise.

Della wanted to let Eliza know she’d be there for her as she settled in, especially when it came to the more awkward issues like getting to know a child who had grown up without her. Still, it was a potentially sensitive subject and she certainly didn’t want to make things worse, so Della found herself pacing outside of the guest bedroom for several minutes before she finally steeled herself and knocked on the door. 

At first, there was the sound of motion inside but no answer, and Della could respect it if Eliza wanted to be alone to process her thoughts. After another moment, though, Eliza opened the door. Her wary expression relaxed slightly. “Oh. Della. Hi.”

Della managed an uncertain smile. “Hey. I, uh, didn’t want to bother you, or dump too much on you at once, but…I know that even with as great as it is, it can be rough, coming home. I guess I just wanted to say that if you want to talk, I’m here.”

Eliza’s answering smile didn’t look any more confident than Della’s, but she nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I keep getting the feeling that I’ve only experienced a fraction of it so far.”

It hadn’t even been a day; Eliza was probably right. “Yeah, it takes time. Definitely. I mean, at least you didn’t terrify your kid into not sleeping, or get her sick off sugar, or deafen her with air horns. So you’re doing better than me.” She shrugged sheepishly at Eliza’s surprised look. “I got a bit carried away. Tried to make up for eleven years of everything at one time.”

Eliza laughed quietly, nodding. “I can understand that.” She stepped aside from the doorway, gesturing into the room. “Come on in.”

Della smiled, taking her up on the invitation. “I don’t want to push you, but…if I can help, even if it’s just learning from my mistakes…” She chuckled. “ _That_ would be like when we were kids, huh?” Eliza had always been the voice of reason when their games had started to get out of hand. Maybe Della could finally return the favor.

Eliza nodded. “I don’t think I’ve processed it all yet.” She paused, as if considering that, and frowned. “No, I know I haven’t.”

Della hadn’t gotten all the details about what happened yet, but she trusted Eliza would share them if she was comfortable. The part about cryofreeze, though, suggested that Eliza hadn’t been aware of the time that had passed while she was gone. Della wasn’t sure if that was better than being acutely aware of every day that went by or not. “I’m not surprised. It’s a lot.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I still haven’t processed everything, if I’m honest.” She didn’t like to let her guard down and reveal her vulnerabilities; she was Della Duck and nothing could stop her. But if it could help her friend, she would. “Some days, I think I have, then something comes along and reminds me that, no, I really haven’t. The good news is, things hit you from out of nowhere a lot less often as time goes by. It actually does get better, eventually.”

“That’s good to hear.” Eliza flexed the fingers of her prosthetic arm, then turned her gaze to Della’s leg. “We’ve become quite the pair, haven’t we?”

Della chuckled. “Yeah. Yours is cooler, though. I just slapped this baby together from some rocket parts. You’ve got all the gadgets, looks like.”

“So it would seem.” Eliza sighed, sitting down next to Della. “I probably could have gotten more information from that scientist, Fenton, but I didn’t really care about anything but seeing Webby and my mother.”

Knowing Fenton, Eliza certainly hadn’t missed her chance. “Oh, I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you anything you want to know, when you’re ready.” Della smiled. “I don’t know him that well, but he seems sweet. Huey really likes him.”

Eliza glanced at Della’s leg again. “Do you mind if I ask…?”

Della had come to get annoyed with random people who felt like they had a right to her life story just because she had a prosthetic leg, but Eliza was a friend – and one who was adjusting to a similar situation, at that. “My ship crash-landed on the moon. My leg got pinned in the wreckage; even if I hadn’t had to lose it to get free, I’m not sure it would have been functional again. It was pretty crushed.”

Eliza nodded slowly. “From what I hear, everything that’s been replaced was too badly burned to save. I don’t remember that part, which is probably good. I just remember seeing the flames, and being disoriented by the smoke, and…” She trailed off, shaking her head as a haunted look crept into her eyes. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to talk about any more of it yet. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize.” Della rubbed her arm. “And don’t push yourself. When you’re ready, you’re ready. And if you’re not…well, it’s your story. No one’s entitled to it.” Talking about it might help Eliza with the trauma in time, but being forced into it certainly wasn’t going to be beneficial.

Eliza reached up, putting her hand over Della’s and holding onto it for a moment. “Richard…he must have saved me. Or tried. They said he was ‘too far gone’…the last thing I remember is him tackling me…” She shifted her hand, rubbing her right thigh. “It was this side, the right…the one that wasn’t burned…”

“I’m so sorry.” While Della had never gotten to know Richard that well, she _did_ know how much Eliza loved her husband; she’d even been a bit envious that Eliza had managed to find someone so great. And it had to be rough for Eliza, waking up to find him gone, especially if he’d died while trying to save her. Della was absolutely sure none of her exes would have done the same for her. Of course, that was part of why they were her exes. She didn’t know what else to say; there weren’t any words that could make it better. As much as they were glad to have her back, that didn’t make Eliza’s experience any less painful. Instead of floundering for meaningless words, Della held her arms out, inviting Eliza into a hug. She wasn’t sure if it would be accepted or not, but Eliza only hesitated a moment before leaning into Della’s embrace.

After a few minutes, Eliza sat up, smiling shakily. “Thanks.” She shook her head, looking down at her hands as she folded them in her lap. “It’s so strange…I kiss my little girl goodbye one night, and when I come home to her, she’s grown into someone I don’t even know yet.”

That, Della could definitely relate to. She was glad she’d thrown her jacket on before going to check on Eliza as she reached inside, taking her treasured sketch of her children out of the inner pocket. “This is…not good, but it’s what I imagined the boys looked like after they hatched.” She sighed. “I had all these fantasies of the things we’d do, and some of them came true, yeah, but I had to get to know them as they were instead of what I’d built up in my head. And getting stranded away from them was my own damn fault, but…”

“It was my fault, too,” Eliza murmured. “At least I had the chance to be there for the first two years…”

Della frowned. “What? No, you were on a mission. It’s not your fault it went bad.”

Eliza blinked back tears. “Richard didn’t want to take it. He said something felt off, that it seemed too easy. He sensed the trap. But I was so eager to nail our target so we could get some more time for ourselves…I talked him into it. So, yeah, kind of my fault.”

Convincing Eliza to let go of her guilt wouldn’t be easy, but Della was willing to accept it wasn’t something that would happen instantly. “He wouldn’t blame you. You took a gamble. That’s what spies do.”

“You took a gamble, too,” Eliza pointed out. “I mean…you didn’t intend to get lost…”

“Touché.” Della still felt she had orchestrated her own situation far more than Eliza had, but it was a fair point about how guilt wasn’t the easiest thing to let go of. “We _are_ a real pair, aren’t we?” She chuckled, remembering when they’d been children and had teamed up to pester Donald…him sputtering about how they were nothing but trouble. They’d certainly developed a knack for finding it. “Donald’s gonna be so surprised to see you back, too!” Della and Eliza had spent more time together because they’d had more in common, but she’d been friends with Donald, too. And, beyond that, he’d come to think of Webby as the “fourth triplet” as much as any of them had. Della chuckled, remembering the few moments she’d considered that to be a legitimate possibility. “Oh, you’ll love this.” If it made Eliza laugh, telling on herself would be worth it. “So, I don’t know if you remember, but Donald and I – we actually hatched from the same egg. Surprised the heck out of our parents. And when I first got home, Webby was with the boys. And we’re all staring at each other, and I swear for a minute I wondered if maybe the same thing happened with her and one of the boys, and all four of them are mine…” Eliza was smiling already, so Della knew she had to confess the rest of the story. “I could have dealt with it, you know – I mean, she’s a great kid – but I swear, the first thought that popped into my head in that moment was, ‘What am I going to name her?’ As if she wouldn’t have had a name by then…”

Eliza did laugh at that. “Okay, that _is_ good.” Her expression was soft as she looked at Della. “Seriously, though…blood or not, my mom told me last night how much you’ve been there for her. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

“Of course.” Della smiled back at her. “She really is a great kid. And I’d have been lost without your mom helping me figure out the parenting thing.”

Eliza grinned. “She makes it look so _easy_ , doesn’t she?”

Della chuckled. “Well, she did have to keep an eye on Uncle Scrooge for years before she had you…”

* * *

Breakfast was prepared, and the kids had piled into the kitchen, ready to eat. Beakley had gotten them fed with her usual efficiency, while Scrooge finished his cup of tea – though it certainly wasn’t the first of the morning. Donald usually ate breakfast on his boat, if he had anything other than a cup of coffee, so it wasn’t strange for him to be absent. There were two stragglers, though, and they were the exact two Scrooge was most concerned about checking in on.

Beakley noticed it too; of course she did. While the children ate, she exchanged a significant look with him and they both slipped out of the kitchen. Della’s room was closer, but the door was open and she wasn’t there. Scrooge was a bit relieved that she was at least able to get up and around on her own again, but he still felt the need to lay eyes on her to be sure she was all right. They headed for the guest room next, finding Della and Eliza together. The door was open a crack, and while Scrooge didn’t want to disturb them, he peeked in, seeing them talking. A shared laugh assured him the conversation was going well. When he turned back to glance at Beakley, her smile mirrored his own.

“I’ll set something aside for them,” she said softly. “I think they may be able to help each other more right now than any of us can.”

Scrooge nodded, taking one more look at the two of them before stepping away to return to the kitchen. He looked at Beakley again, still smiling. After so much loss, they could finally share this moment of joy. 

“Just like when they were younger, hmm?” she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He nodded. “After all this time, our girls are home.”

* * *

It was rare that the universe allowed Donald an opportunity to sleep in, between the kids and the adventures and everything else. Della had been doing better, so he felt comfortable taking the time to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee while he browsed yesterday’s newspaper. At this point in his life, he could have actually afforded his own newspaper subscription, but there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of taking Scrooge’s once he was done with it.

Once he made his way into the mansion to check up on the kids, Donald heard Della’s voice coming from the kitchen and detoured to see her first. She was eating breakfast with a hauntingly familiar woman, who had Webby practically glued to her lap. It took Donald a moment to place her – and it said something about the bizarre nature of their everyday lives that it took him an additional moment to react to her presence. As if Della having breakfast with a deceased friend were perfectly normal… Though, honestly, he’d seen stranger things. “Eliza?!”

Eliza waved to him, a wry smile curling her beak. “In the flesh. Well…more or less.”

Donald hadn’t noticed her robotic arm until she waved at him, but that was pretty far down on the list of unusual things about this situation. “How…?”

Webby grinned, happy to field that question. “My mom was cryofrozen! Isn’t that great?”

Donald nodded, shrugging. That was a new one on the list of unlikely returns, but the least surprising about it was how excited it made Webby. Not only had she gotten her mother back, the process aligned with her unique fixations. He reached out to ruffle her hair. “Sure is.” He felt like he should be _more_ blown away by this, somehow; Della had always been closer to Eliza, but he’d considered her a friend as well. And here she was, miraculously alive and back in their lives. It might hit him later, as it had with Della, once the stress of survival and the Moon invasion wore off. Then again, as he’d recently come to accept, there was nothing mundane about their everyday lives. As much as he’d tried to fight it over the years, the abnormal was normal for them. He’d loved it once, before Della had been lost, and he was beginning to rediscover that in himself again. If that meant an unlikely but happy reunion today, so much the better. He smiled, patting Eliza’s shoulder; he’d have hugged her, but he didn’t want to dislodge Webby. “Welcome back.”

As if to cap off the moment, Launchpad happened to wander into the kitchen next, finishing off a donut. He waved at Donald and Della. “Hey, Ms. D. Mr. D.” Noticing the other pair, he waved again as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Hey, Webby. Hey, Webby’s mom.” And with that, he was out again, sipping his coffee as he murmured to himself about propellers. A few seconds of uncertain silence followed in the kitchen as none of them were sure how to react, before all four of them burst into laughter. Just another day in McDuck Manor...

* * *


	13. Still Standing

* * *

“This is a disaster,” Bradford Buzzard grumbled, looking around the table at the key FOWL board members who had gathered. He tried to glare at each one of them individually, but it could be hard to tell in the low light. Funso’s basement was hardly the worst headquarters he’d worked out of in his time with the agency, but they’d definitely had better. Desperate times and such… Plus, it was cheap, which he greatly appreciated. “Thanks to that fool Akita’s hubris and obsession with his earlier projects, _years_ of work on Project Gemini have been for nothing. Not only that, the McDuck family has reclaimed the asset. And it’s given them…hope.” His beak curled in disgust.

Black Heron rolled her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world. With Akita in prison, we’d hit a standstill anyhow.”

“I’d have figured it out.” Gandra Dee snorted. “It was only because of _my_ nanites that he got so far in the first place. And if you idiots had been quicker back in the day, there wouldn’t have been so much oxygen deprivation damage to work around.”

Bradford interrupted before this discussion could erupt into an all-out argument. “There’s plenty of blame to go around.”

Beside him, Buford sighed. “I liked McDuck so much better when he was depressed about losing his family.”

“As did we all,” Bradford agreed. “And as tragic as it is that his niece survived her recent accident, we have to work with what we have now.”

Steelbeak had been playing a game on his phone – typical – but he perked up at that. “Was that one of ours?”

“Unfortunately, no.” As much as Bradford would have been happy to claim credit for nearly killing any member of Scrooge McDuck’s family, a street accident was too unpredictable. It had been a twist of fate that nearly worked in their favor, but Della Duck had proved herself to be infuriatingly resilient. “However, the fact remains – we have lost control of the asset and Project Gemini has been all but destroyed. We need to salvage this somehow.”

“I could always kill Agent 22,” Black Heron suggested, looking hopeful.

While her death would certainly be no tragedy as far as Bradford was concerned, he sighed. “And that would be related to our current dilemma _how_ , exactly?”

Black Heron shrugged. “She would be dead and I would enjoy it.”

Bradford rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for your petty revenge schemes.”

Black Heron held up one hand, smiling dangerously. “Hear me out. It would destabilize the McDuck clan, at least temporarily. As for the asset…that’s, what, half the family she has left? You’ve seen how we’ve been able to keep 22 well in hand by threatening the pipsqueak every so often. I’m sure the same principle would apply…she’d be too worried about her precious little girl to give us any trouble.”

When she put it that way, Black Heron almost had an argument. However, a premature assassination was less-than-ideal; Bradford and his brothers had their own plans for McDuck and Agent 22, after everything else had fallen into place. He exchanged a look with them, confirming they were on the same page, then shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

“Fine.” Black Heron shook her head. “But when you do decide to take her out, I want in.”

“You’ll be the first person I inform,” Bradford muttered, though from the look on her face, she seemed to miss his sarcasm.

* * *

“Thank you.” As Della hung up the phone, she wasn’t entirely sure how to identify what she was feeling. She’d gotten a call from Officer Cabrera, letting her know that they’d found the man who’d been driving the car that hit her. He had been arrested and the police would be in touch if they needed anything more from her. It was a relief, of course, that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else, but Della found herself strangely ambivalent beyond that.

She wanted to be elated, and every time she thought about how close Louie had come to being hurt, Della did want blood. But, mostly, moving on with her life had taken priority. Thinking about it like that made her feel a little better. It wasn’t that she didn’t care – she simply cared about everything else that was going on in her life more. Especially given the roller coaster ride that the past couple of days had been.

Della turned, finding Donald in the doorway of the living room, watching her. “Oh, hey, Don. What’s up?”

Donald took that as his invitation to join her, though he hardly needed one. “What was that about?”

If anyone was allowed to be nosy, it was her twin. “They found the guy that hit me.” 

Donald brightened quickly. “That’s great! I’d love to get my hands on him.”

That wasn’t surprising. Della favored him with a smile. “…which is why it’s good you didn’t get the chance. It’d be a real drag having to visit you in jail.” She pulled him in close, hooking her arm over the back of his neck. He wrestled himself free, but he was smiling. Della would have pulled him back in, but that was likely to escalate into a full wrestling match, and though she was doing better, she wasn’t up to that quite yet. Pity, that. She’d always enjoyed being physically close to him. Whether it was just her nature or a side effect of sharing the same egg, she’d never been sure, but she saw no reason to overanalyze it. It hadn’t been until she’d gotten back to Earth and been able to experience it again that Della had realized how touch-starved she was.

Donald seemed to sense what she didn’t say, and he picked her up, depositing her on the couch, before cuddling in next to her so that she was pinned between him and the arm of the couch. Della laughed. “Dude, I can walk now. You didn’t have to carry me!”

He made a defiant noise, the one that meant _“get over it,”_ and grinned at her. “I warned you – if I have to sit on you to keep you from overdoing it, I will.”

Della pushed back at him playfully, not nearly hard enough to move him. “Ever heard of personal space?”

Donald only leaned in more firmly. “Not since I hatched with your foot in my face!”

Della laughed, shifting down so that she could bring her foot up to shove it in his face. “What, like this?”

“No, more like this!” Donald was laughing too, as he rolled over so that he was lying on top of her, across her chest. Della grinned and shoved his face away with her hand. “You started it.”

So she had, and she’d more or less gotten exactly what she wanted – and without reinjuring herself, which was good. “You know you love it.”

Donald smiled, making no move to let her up. “Yeah,” he admitted, his tone low as if it were a huge secret. “I kind of do.”

* * *

Eliza collapsed back onto her bed – at least temporarily hers, while she settled into her new life – with a sigh, rubbing her hands over her face. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn’t come and the screaming would alarm too many people. 

Talking with Della had helped, but it wasn’t an instant fix and she knew she shouldn’t have expected it to be. Della understood part of Eliza’s experience better than anyone else could, but there was so much to process. And, frankly, Eliza had managed to convince herself she was doing fine, all things considered, until she’d become aware of the date. It was her wedding anniversary.

She should have been celebrating with her husband, perhaps arranging something special. Or maybe life would have been hectic lately and they’d have planned a quiet night in with Webby and any other children they might have had. Richard had always wanted three. Eliza had said she wanted two, but she might have been convinced to have a third, down the line. At least, until all those options had been taken from her in one night, on a mission that was supposed to be easy. And Richard had been worried the mission was _too_ easy, but she’d just wanted a damn break, so she’d talked him into pushing ahead and now she was left behind to deal with the consequences.

S.H.U.S.H., and Eliza in particular, had been tracking Sabrina Kestrel – aka the Silver Falcon – for several years, and it seemed like there was finally a break in the case. Kestral had declared Eliza her nemesis and had devoted herself to becoming to Eliza what Black Heron had been to her mother. As predictable as it might have been, for a villain, it also helped keep her in check. If she sensed that Eliza’s focus was on thwarting any other FOWL project, she became unspeakably jealous and devoted herself to a new scheme. They were dangerous, to be sure – Kestral was vain and egotistical, but she was also highly intelligent – but when she was looking to attract Eliza’s attention, she might as well have put a flashing neon sign over her lair. Eliza knew the ins and outs of how Kestral’s mind worked, or so she thought, and she’d been impatient to get to the inevitable conclusion, where S.H.U.S.H. shut it down and Kestral retreated for a few months to work on her next plan.

_“I don’t know, love.” Richard frowned, interlacing his fingers with Eliza’s. “I have a bad feeling about this. I know Kestral practically takes out an ad in the paper when she’s waiting for you, but a robotics lab? Isn’t that a little off-brand for her?”_

_True, Kestral was primarily interested in hacking her way to a grand heist, but it wasn’t that far removed. “Maybe she’s diversifying.” Eliza could match the Silver Falcon keystroke for keystroke when it came to programming, but she was out of her element when it came to a circuit board and soldering iron. That was why she needed Richard. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to come if I didn’t think this was important.” They’d been avoiding joint missions since Webby’s arrival, but sometimes it became necessary. Their skillsets were complementary; that was how they’d begun working together so much in the first place._

_Richard sighed, but nodded. “Are you sure your mother won’t mind watching Webs on such short notice?”_

_“She never does.” Eliza smiled, reaching up to stroke her husband’s cheek. “We’ll go in, we’ll foil the plan, and we’ll be home by morning.”_

_“I hope you’re right.” Richard brought her hand to his beak, kissing her fingers. “I just don’t trust the sudden shift in her M.O. Building droids to steal for her?”_

_Eliza shrugged. It did seem a little strange, but she and Kestral had been at this game for years. Perhaps it had gotten a little tiresome, or the Silver Falcon’s usual targets had upped their cybersecurity. “It’ll all be worth it when we’re lying on the beach in Hawaii.”_

They’d never gotten that Hawaiian vacation, obviously. And now Richard was gone, because he’d been _right_ ; Kestral had teamed up with other FOWL agents. Things had gone south so quickly; their exit strategy had failed. Then the fire started… Eliza wrapped her arms around herself, trying to will away the memories of the acrid smell of burning circuits, the flames that spread impossibly fast, fueled by an accelerant… Her breath started coming in gasps, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a panic attack began to overtake her.

Strong arms wrapped around her. “Breathe, darling.” Her mother’s voice was like a life preserver thrown to Eliza as she was trying not to drown. “Focus on my voice. Just breathe, in and out…there, that’s good.” 

Eliza leaned into the embrace as she found her equilibrium again. “Mama…”

“I’m here, poppet.” Her mother hadn’t used that nickname since she was small, but it worked as intended, reminding Eliza of safer, happier times. “I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that for a long time, Eliza letting the warmth and security of her mother’s love wash over her. Once she felt more stable, she sat up, though still stayed close. As she did, she noticed the frame that was sitting on the bed beside Beakley. “What’s that?”

Beakley picked it up, handing it to Eliza. “I wasn’t sure if it would hurt or help, honestly…but I thought you might want this, especially today.” It was one of Eliza and Richard’s wedding photos – her favorite, actually, from their first dance.

Eliza ran her fingers over the picture, her heart clenching, but she was glad to have it. “Thank you.” A tear slipped down her cheek, falling to land on the glass in the frame. “It would have been fourteen years.” She hated that she’d had to stop to do the math, once she’d realized what day it was.

“I know.” Beakley put an arm around her shoulders. “Anniversaries can be hard under normal circumstances, and you’re only just settling in. Don’t judge yourself if you’re having a difficult time.” Her smile was shaky. “I’ve always been a bit soppy this time of year, myself.”

Eliza reached out, hugging her again. She couldn’t bear to imagine how she’d feel if anything happened to Webby, and her mother had been dealing with that for the past nine years. And the advice about anniversaries probably didn’t apply solely to weddings, but it reminded her of something else they now, unfortunately, had in common. “Widow” wasn’t a title either of them wanted, but it was one they shared. She let her head rest on Beakley’s shoulder. “Do you still miss Daddy?” She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t think of a better way to ask the question.

Beakley nodded. “Every day.” She stroked Eliza’s hair gently, wiping away another stray tear. “I see so much of him in you. And I’d love to tell you that it gets better, but it doesn’t, necessarily. It just gets easier to cope.” It might not have seemed like much of a distinction, but Eliza understood what she meant. “You might never lose the anger, but you’ll find a different way to deal with it. And a part of your heart will break every time Webby laughs the way he used to…but then it’ll become more of a gentle tug, then a fond reminder.” She smiled. “And if you lock yourself in the pantry to have a good cry in the middle of the day now and then when things get tough, no one has to know about it.”

Eliza nodded. Beakley always projected the image she wanted the world to see, unshakable, and Eliza was touched that her mother would reveal her private struggles, however subtly. “Thanks, Mama.”

“You’re welcome.” Beakley’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached under her glasses to wipe them away. “I never thought I’d get to hold you in my arms again.”

Eliza smiled, her own tears continuing to fall quietly. “I’m here.” She shifted, letting herself be folded into another hug. At this point, it was therapy for both of them.

* * *


	14. One Step at a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...how 'bout them new episodes? Fair warning, there's some spoiler-ish stuff for "They Put a Moonlander on the Earth!" in this chapter, but I absolutely couldn't resist with the gifts that episode gave us. That's the last episode I'm going to probably directly consider part of the timeline of this story, since I've got my own plans for FOWL in this tale and it looks like the show will be revealing a lot more about them soon. I don't consider this a full-blown AU yet, just...canon-adjacent, but if I get jossed, I get jossed. I still have a story to tell! Thank you so much for all your support. <3 It definitely inspires me to get the new chapters out as soon as possible, even with all the curveballs real life has been throwing me.

* * *

Scrooge had never allowed full access to the mansion to anyone he didn’t trust, so there were very few spaces those who worked for him hadn’t been at some point. His most private study was one such place. It showed the effects of that – cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling that he’d never attended to, crumpled-up paper balls from drafts of personal letters, the occasional newspaper he’d tossed aside after reading. But it was _his_ space, unbothered by the world – and even Goldie, who pretty much went where she pleased when she dropped in on him. It was a quiet place where he could be alone with his thoughts.

There were nods to his life’s tragedies here and there. If he looked, he would find the torn article about the automobile crash that had killed Hortense and Quackmore, pieces of an expense report from the space exploration wing of McDuck Enterprises while Della had been missing, and discarded sketches of failed plans. Not all of his hours spent here had been bad, though. There was also an article detailing his philanthropic efforts, as well as the paper clip sculpture that he’d been messing with when he had the breakthrough that officially took him from millionaire to billionaire. His brain worked better if his hands were busy. If he rifled through the drawers, he’d find family photos – and, of course, a golden lock of hair tied with a red ribbon.

Scrooge had slipped into the study to have a few minutes to himself. The events of the last several days had his mind going in a thousand different directions. He’d never thought Eliza would return to them; it was a wonderful turn of events, of course, but the circumstances had him concerned. He’d never been foolish enough to think FOWL was no longer a threat, but they hadn’t been high on his active list of concerns until he’d found Eliza in that lab. Black Heron’s return had seemed to be more related to her obsession with Beakley than any other affiliations she might have. Other than the occasional vague threats Beakley had been keeping track of, FOWL hadn’t seemed to be all that interested in Scrooge or his extended family. But if they hadn’t been before, they would be now. Scrooge hadn’t read through the files on “Project Gemini” yet – apparently the code name for what they’d been doing to Eliza all this time – so he had no idea if this was a major scheme for them or simply some demented villain’s pet project. However, he _did_ know that there was no way to take _anything_ from an organization so devoted to crime that “larceny” was part of its _name_ and have it remain unchallenged.

There had been precious little information left following the fire that destroyed the Silver Falcon’s lab. Even if S.H.U.S.H. hadn’t agreed to grant Beakley access to what they had, she would have found a way to get those files. Scrooge had read them many times himself, trying to figure out what had led to the change in Kestrel’s M.O. and who had started the fire in the first place. It absolutely hadn’t been a S.H.U.S.H. job; the agency preferred to play it safe and certainly wouldn’t have risked setting fire to the lab with two of their best agents inside. Had Kestral been deranged enough to throw away all her work just to kill Eliza? It wouldn’t have been shocking, but there had been no intel on Kestrel in the nine years since that night. S.H.U.S.H. had listed her as an inactive threat, noting the possibility that she had perished in the blaze as well. But for “Project Gemini” to be so dependent on cybernetics and for Kestral to have made such an abrupt shift to focus on that area… Scrooge was beginning to realize how much bigger this was than he’d originally thought. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and he didn’t like the picture they presented.

As concerning as this newest threat was, Scrooge wasn’t inclined to panic. At the moment, they were in the safest place in Duckburg – if not all of Calisota – outside of the Money Bin. He wasn’t opposed to evacuating his family there if things escalated. The best defense was a strong offense, and FOWL thankfully didn’t have Lunaris’ advanced reconnaissance technology on their side. It was definitely time to give Gyro and his team the green light on the new security system they’d designed.

* * *

“Gravity works, Pink.”

Webby blinked in surprise at her best friend. Lena hadn’t used that nickname in a long time, true, but what really caught Webby off guard was how simple yet profound the comment was. Lena had dropped by unexpectedly after dropping Violet off at the library. While, typically, a trip to the library would have thrilled Webby, she’d instead found herself gushing about her mother’s return to Lena. Gradually, that had turned into rambling about all the very complicated things Webby hadn’t even acknowledged she was feeling until the words were tumbling out of her mouth in a disjointed mess. Lena had listened, quietly, nodding occasionally, then shrugged and offered her response. “You’re…you’re right.”

Lena nodded, coming over to drape an arm over Webby’s shoulders. “I mean, yeah, it’s super cool that you got your mom back and all, but…that doesn’t mean it can’t be weird or you can’t wonder what’s gonna change, or…if it’ll all disappear tomorrow. If you fly high long enough, eventually you’ve got to come down.”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t as if Webby hadn’t seen this before, with Huey, Dewey, and Louie. They’d had to adjust to their mother’s return as well, and though the circumstances had been different, the situations weren’t really that dissimilar. Louie had the hardest time, initially, but it had been a big change for everyone. As overjoyed and excited as Webby was, the initial rush was beginning to wear off just enough to let her fears creep in. What if her mother moved out of the mansion once she got adjusted and wanted Webby to come with her? What if FOWL tried to take her back and they lost her again?

Lena squeezed Webby’s shoulder. “It took me a long time to realize my dads were for real about letting me stay. It’s not like I ever had parents before. And…you know, we still have our weird moments, but the crash off the adrenaline rush isn’t the end. It’s just the part where things stop being shiny and new and weird and they start becoming normal-weird. If that makes sense.”

Webby smiled gratefully. “It does.” Lena always did have a bit of the warrior poet underneath her sarcastic exterior. She hugged Lena tightly. “Thank you.” She still had a lot to think about, but even the reminder that her feelings were totally normal helped.

“Anytime.” Lena smiled, patting Webby’s head. “So, are you going to introduce me? Or is the magic shadow girl going to be a bit too much for her right now?”

Webby chuckled. “We can leave that part for later.” Though she suspected it wouldn’t be the strangest thing her mother had dealt with. “But I do want her to meet my best friend! Come on – I think she’s in the kitchen with Granny.”

“Cool.” Lena followed her. “And if it is some wild magic fake-out, I should be able to sense it.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem, but thanks!” They found her mother and grandmother in the kitchen, as expected, and Webby cheerfully hopped up into her mother’s lap when invited. “Mom! This is my best friend, Lena! Her sister Violet’s my good friend, too, but she’s at the library.” She grinned as Lena assessed Eliza, then gave her a subtle thumbs-up. Magic actually hadn’t been one of Webby’s concerns in this case, but she was always touched by Lena looking out for her. 

Eliza smiled, waving at Lena. “Hi. Webby’s told me all about you.”

Lena’s cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool. So…uh, welcome back, I guess?”

“Thanks.” Eliza chuckled, glancing at her own mother. “I must admit, I was expecting more of an interrogation. My mom says you’re very protective of Webby – not that I don’t appreciate it.”

That actually got a laugh out of Lena. “Eh, if you passed Downton Abbey’s test, you passed mine.”

Webby couldn’t help but laugh as well. She was definitely beginning to feel better about everything. They had time to let things settle as they got used to their new normal – and the most important things, she knew she could still depend on.

* * *

It had been awhile since Della had seen Penumbra – despite the fact that she was basically living in the hanger behind the mansion – so she ventured out to check in on her. It wasn’t unusual for Penumbra to disappear for stretches of time, especially since she’d finally found a hobby that didn’t involve trying to get back to the moon. Much of the scrap metal had been turned into sculptures – most of them were still pretty abstract, but she was starting to learn how to intentionally weld things into shapes.

“Penny!” Della called as she stepped into the hanger. “You home?”

Penumbra poked her head out of the former ship’s cockpit, which now served as her living room. “Ah, Della. Hello.” She frowned. “I was about to go in search of you. Normally, you would have come by before now.”

“Sorry about that.” Della shrugged. “I was laid up for a little while. You know, you’re always welcome to come inside the mansion if you want to hang out.”

Penumbra frowned, apparently still hung up on Della’s explanation. “Laid…up?”

Right, Penumbra was still getting the hang of Earth expressions. “Injured, basically.” She gasped in surprise as she was immediately picked up and inspected closely. “Don’t worry. I’m fine now! It’s like I always say, nothing can stop Della Duck.”

Penumbra set Della down, still eyeing her warily. “If I had known, I would have come to see you. Is that not the custom?”

Della nodded. “It is. But I didn’t want you to worry. I figured you were busy with your art. How’s that going, by the way?”

Penumbra brightened at that. “It’s going quite well.” She disappeared into her living room, returning with a vaguely dog-shaped golden statue. “I made this for Gibbous and Zenith.” She frowned at her creation. “It was supposed to be Good Boy, but it…still needs work.”

Della grinned. “Looks great to me. Honestly, it could probably be a shapeless lump and they’d love it if you made it for them.” She glanced around at some of the other pieces that were on the shelves. Some seemed to be works in progress, but the one that resembled a slightly lopsided top hat drew her immediate attention. “Dang, a hat made of gold. You might have accidentally stumbled upon Uncle Scrooge’s greatest dream.”

“You like it?” Penumbra moved to pick it up, handing it to Della. It was surprisingly light, and Della realized it wasn’t solid. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hollow inside, making it a perfectly serviceable hat.

Della laughed, trying the hat on. If she balanced it well enough, she could actually wear it. “It’s the season’s new fashion. All the style of Earth and all the gold of the Moon!”

Far from being immune to Della’s absurdity – or annoyed by it, Penumbra looked delighted. “Would you like to have it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Della grinned. “I love it. If you’re willing to part with it, I’ll treasure it forever.”

Penumbra looked away briefly, but Della could have sworn she blushed. “Consider it a thank you for pushing me to discover what this planet does hold for me.”

Now Della was the one blushing. “Aww, you’re welcome. But you don’t have to thank me. That’s what besties are for, right?”

“Ah…yes. Right.” Penumbra glanced toward the door at the sound of a crash outside. “It would seem Launchpad is back.”

Della laughed. “Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how he’s still alive, but he sure grows on you, huh?”

Penumbra nodded. “His unique talents have proven useful.” She looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “He has also provided me with some advice.”

“Oh?” Della was curious. She’d learned her lesson about underestimating Launchpad, which made her even more interested to find out exactly what kind of advice he’d been giving Penumbra. “About what?”

“Friendship, and the dating of Earth females.”

Della nearly choked. Of all the possible answers, she hadn’t expected that. “ _Oh_?”

“Yes,” Penumbra confirmed. “He said that if I were to have a friend who was in need of such advice, then I should tell that friend to ‘just go for it’ and to ask that friend if their friend were to also prefer females.”

That did sound like Launchpad advice. Surprisingly, Della was able to follow it. “And did you…get all that?”

“Not at all.” Penumbra looked a little sheepish. “I had hoped you might help me decipher it.”

“I can do that.” Della could feel her cheeks burning and she hoped Penumbra didn’t notice the increasing blush. There was absolutely no reason to assume she was involved in this. There were plenty of single female Moonlanders, after all. “So, it sounds like what you’re saying is, you like to date women, right?” Penumbra nodded. “And you want to know if the woman you’re interested in also dates women?” Another nod. “Okay, cool. You just ask her, then. You don’t have to tell her you want to date _her_ , but she’ll probably at least wonder about that part.”

“Then where does the extra friend come in?” Penumbra asked, her confusion obvious.

Della laughed. “Forget about her. She’s you. It’s a…weird Earth thing.”

“Yes. Well, then.” Penumbra frowned. “I would assume you are romantically interested in Earth males, as you procreated with one, but I have learned it is not uncommon on Earth to have interest in more than one gender.”

Oh, so it _was_ her. Della tried to keep herself from giggling like a nervous teenager. “Are you asking if I date women, too?” Penumbra nodded, blushing furiously and obviously hating it. They were such messes. “Yes. I do.” She’d never made a secret of her bisexuality, but the subject hadn’t exactly come up between her and Penumbra before. “And did you…want to date _me_?” Oh, her voice was absolutely _not_ squeaking. She was Della Duck, not some kid with a crush. (She absolutely did have a crush, though, and every brain cell she possessed was doing its best to remind her of that.)

“Is that…allowed? For best friends to also date?”

Della nodded, not trusting herself to open her mouth at that second, lest she blurt out something stupid. 

“Good. Then…if you wish to date me, we should date.” Penumbra shifted in a self-conscious sort of way, brushing her hands off on her skirt. “You…do wish to date me, correct?”

“I do.” Even saying that much caused Della to break into awkward giggles. She glanced around, nudging a nearby stepstool over and climbing onto it so she could be a little closer to eye-level with Penumbra. “I think you’re really cool and fun and it’s kind of intimidating but also super sexy that you could probably break me in half if you wanted to.” So much for not saying anything stupid. “Um, never mind, forget all that. I just—” She was silenced by a chaste kiss to her cheek. It was awkwardly placed, but heartfelt, and Della rose onto her toes to return the gesture. With as caught up in the moment as she was, she completely missed the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, Penny!” Launchpad called, startling them both. “I was thinking about that thing we talked about, and…oh, never mind, you nailed it.” He turned and left, causing both women to dissolve into laughter as the door rattled shut behind him.

* * *

“He what now?” Bradford growled as one of the Eggheads – he didn’t know or care which one – put an expense report on his desk. “I thought we’d had him convinced it wasn’t feasible!” Scrooge McDuck had always been a wild card, and a particularly infuriating one at that, but this was truly the last thing Bradford needed. They were already doing enough damage control, and now Scrooge had authorized a significant investment in a new, over the top security system. The same one his board had talked him down from on multiple occasions; Bradford had thought they’d finally got him to put it to rest. The fact that he’d gone ahead with it, without notifying them, meant he sensed an imminent threat. As irritating as the man was, he was also smart – which, frankly, made him all the more unpleasant to deal with. He couldn’t be easily manipulated.

Bentley glared at the paper. “He’s had access to Akita’s lab. If he’s aware of the true nature of Project Gemini…”

“The files we sent Akita were appropriately redacted,” Bradford snapped. “It was only what he needed to complete the mission.”

Buford snorted. “As if that’s going to stop McDuck.”

Bradford shot him a dark look. “I’m _aware_ that’s a concern.” Buford hadn’t wanted to involve Akita in Project Gemini at all; he found the scientist to be too unpredictable. Bradford acknowledged that was a concern, but they had hit a roadblock, and they didn’t have access to any other scientists with both the skill level and the willingness to involve themselves in such an endeavor. Akita absolutely hadn’t been Bradford’s first choice, but at the time, he’d been the only viable option. “This is not the time for ‘I told you so.’ While the exact files McDuck has may not compromise our cover, as you said, we can anticipate he will not stop there.” His board’s cover hadn’t been blown yet, but by now, Scrooge would know that FOWL was responsible for Project Gemini, and his devotion to protecting his family – both biological and extended – would make him particularly tenacious. “He knows FOWL is involved, which is concern enough.”

Bentley raised an eyebrow. “As much as I’m reluctant to accelerate our timeline, might that be necessary? If he does manage to discover our involvement, it would be catastrophic.”

“Catastrophic” was actually an understatement in this case. Everything they’d worked so hard on, for so long, would be gone. Bradford considered it. No plan was ever set in stone, but at the same time, among the brothers, their intended timeline had been almost sacred. Their underlings could fool around with whatever inane plans they liked in the meantime, but the multi-step process that would lead them to ultimate victory and control of the world economy depended on a very delicate, linked series of events. He sighed. Bentley might have been the quietest of the three of them, but he was also the most conservative. For him to even suggest such a thing only reinforced to Bradford that it had, unfortunately, become necessary. He sighed, nodding, and pressed the intercom button on the table. They couldn’t risk the veil of secrecy they’d fought so hard to maintain. “Activate Incident Command. Order 44 is now in effect.”

* * *


	15. A Flair for the Dramatic

* * *

Donald had long ago accepted that luck was never going to favor him, so he often found himself wondering how he had managed to end up with a girlfriend like Daisy. He’d been too busy to date since the boys had hatched, but now that they were older and life had settled a bit, and he had help…she was exactly the kind of person he _wanted_ to date. Plus, she was interested in him and somehow understood him, quite literally? He tried not to focus on his good fortune too much for fear of jinxing himself.

Finally, their schedules had aligned, and he and Daisy had found time to hang out together. His houseboat might not have been much, but she seemed to enjoy spending time there, and since this wasn’t a date, he didn’t feel too much pressure to dazzle her. That alone was a relief, realizing that their relationship had progressed to the point where they could just enjoy each other’s company without the need to have anything planned.

Daisy had been charmed by the baby pictures of the triplets on the walls and wanted to see more, so Donald had gotten the family photo albums off the shelf. They’d spent the past couple of hours at his kitchen table, looking at pictures and drinking coffee. He couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend the afternoon – though there were, of course, a few pages he subtly managed to skip here and there. Daisy might have known Panchito and Jose, but that didn’t mean Donald was ready to explain all of their college misadventures just yet.

He’d missed one, however, as he got up from the table to get more coffee. Donald looked back over his shoulder as he heard Daisy’s laughter.

“You never told me you had a grunge phase!” At least the revelation seemed to delight her.

Donald groaned, seeing which picture she was looking at. He and Della were sitting back-to-back, leaning up against each other at a party. On the surface, she appeared uncharacteristically bored and he was entirely too amused by whatever was happening around them. “I’d say it was Halloween, but…” He shrugged, smiling a little in admission. “Well, it _was_ , but those are my clothes, yeah.”

“Your…clothes.” Daisy was sharp; she caught the implication that they were his clothes, but he might not necessarily have been the one wearing them. She looked more closely at the photo. “Wait, is that…”

Donald chuckled, setting their freshly refilled mugs down on the table. Now that she knew about the questionable fashion choices of his youth, this was actually a pretty fond memory. “Yeah, that’s Della. And she’s…well, me.” He smiled. “We always matched our costumes on Halloween, but we told all our friends that we weren’t dressing up that year.”

Daisy burst into laughter. “And then you came dressed as each other?!”

Donald nodded. The differences had always been quite obvious to the two of them, but once they’d switched clothes and hairstyles, he’d been forced to admit how alike they really looked. It was a remarkably convincing swap until either one of them opened their mouths. That made looking in a mirror all the more difficult after Della had disappeared, but he shoved those memories to the back of his mind. She was home now, and safe; there was no reason to let anything bring him down when he and Daisy had been having such a good time. “We had a lot of fun that night.” As much as his memories had threatened to stab him through the heart on occasion, in time they had also become a comfort on long, sleepless nights…and hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t going to go there? Maybe it was time to start looking forward, figure out what he and Della were going to do this Halloween. “I’d suggest we do it again, but we’ve had enough chaos this year so far. Maybe something more traditional.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Daisy grinned. “And if you do change your mind and decide to go bold, just let me know. I’ll whip something up!”

Donald smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” Maybe this was the universe’s way of apologizing to him for making him its whipping boy; he felt like he’d won the lottery in finding Daisy. She had it all – brains, beauty, and spirit. Plus, she seemed to be getting along with the kids and Della so far. He hadn’t unleashed the extended family – or Scrooge – on her just yet, but he trusted she could handle it when he did. Donald had learned to be mistrustful of fate, and he still had to remind himself that this was real sometimes. But if Daisy was fate’s way of making amends, who was he to complain?

* * *

Unlike many children, Eliza hadn’t ever debated what she wanted to be when she grew up. She _knew_ she wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a spy. Whether it had been a side effect of it being the two of them against the world since her father had been murdered by FOWL or if Eliza had simply found her calling early, she couldn’t say. She had begged her mother to train her, growing increasingly frustrated each time she was refused. Eliza had been twelve before she’d finally been allowed to start learning. Once she’d become a mother herself, Eliza had begun to understand her mother’s reasons. She’d wanted Webby to have the chance to be a child, carefree and cheerfully clueless about the best angle to snap an enemy’s neck in hand-to-hand combat.

Clearly, that hadn’t happened. 

Eliza’s initial reaction to discovering the full extent of Webby’s training had been shock, and perhaps a bit of childish jealousy. But it seemed like everything was an emotional rollercoaster around here. The shock had given way to indignance – how dare her mother lock Webby away from the world and start teaching her the ways of espionage alongside the alphabet? Eliza had briefly been ready for a fight on that one, before a tearful heart-to-heart where she came to realize that her mother felt it was the only way to keep Webby safe. Eliza had no idea where the next wave of emotion would take her, but at the moment, she was just…sad. For all of them, really. Webby seemed remarkably well-adjusted, considering, but the happy, domestic dream Eliza had created for herself from the time she found out she was expecting had been shattered forever.

As important as becoming reacquainted with her family had been, Eliza knew that part of reacclimating would also be getting up to speed on the state of the world. Fenton had been happy to loan her a laptop from the lab, and Eliza had discovered quickly that it had access to the mansion’s security monitor system. She found herself staring at the login screen, contemplating her choices. Technology had advanced while she’d been in stasis, but she was relatively sure she could hack in. VonDrake’s final test for his systems engineers before he set them loose in the field had been to hack into one of his own security programs. His code was neither logical nor elegant, and if one succeeded in finding the back doors into the system, they could probably access anything. Whether it could be accessed without being detected at some point was a different story, however. It would be much easier to ask for a password, though Eliza knew her reasons for wanting it fell far short of “need-to-know.” Webby knew every inch of this mansion, which meant there would be security footage of her. She’d seen pictures, but Eliza wanted more. She wanted to watch her little girl living her life, all those precious moments and even the boring ones. The cameras were only in common areas, for obvious reasons, but even that was more than Eliza currently had.

She turned her head and closed the laptop as she heard a knock on the door. “Come in.”

Scrooge opened the door, stepping inside. He had a folder in his hand, which suggested he’d come regarding some type of business. “How’ve you been settling in, lass?”

“Fine.” It was a social lie and they both knew it, but the real answer was far too complicated for polite conversation.

Scrooge nodded, as if acknowledging that he was going to let it pass. “Do you have a minute?”

Eliza chuckled darkly. “Considering I’m still legally dead, I have a lot of time on my hands.”

Scrooge smiled sympathetically. “Aye, that paperwork can be a right pain in the arse.” He moved to the desk in the room, and she pulled up another chair to join him. “Hopefully, this will be easier. Your mother had asked me to transfer this account to your control.”

It was a trust fund account, and Eliza blinked in surprise at the balance at the top of the first sheet. Richard had come from a wealthy family; the Vanderquacks were hotel tycoons, at least until Richard had decided the family business didn’t interest him. He’d always joked that he was both “the third and the last,” given that he’d been named for both his father and grandfather, and he’d insisted that if he and Eliza had a son, they would name him “literally anything else.” Richard had been an only child and both of his parents were gone by the time he and Eliza met, so it made sense that Webby’s inheritance would have been sizable. Even so, Eliza hadn’t been expecting nearly this much. “How…?”

Scrooge’s beak turned upward. “A little investment advice from Yours Truly. Your daughter is one very wealthy little girl. She’s not competing for my title just yet, but as far as the richest ducks go, this would put her in the top five.” 

“Does she know?” Eliza asked.

Scrooge shook his head. “Your mother was saving it for her thirteenth birthday, when she gains access to the funds.” His eyes met Eliza’s. “Of course, this was set up when she was Richard’s only surviving family. If you want any portion of this, you’d be entitled.”

Eliza shook her head. “No, nine years of back pay ought to take care of me for a while.” S.H.U.S.H. had promised her that much, though she was still debating if she wanted to return to active duty once she’d adjusted to her new life. She took Scrooge’s pen, signing the paperwork that would transfer control of the account to her until Webby turned thirteen. “Thank you for your help with this. And…everything.” It seemed inadequate, but she didn’t know what else she could say.

“Of course.” Scrooge reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “If you need anything else, just say the word.”

Well, that was one potential invitation to her debate from earlier. Eliza laughed nervously. “Actually…I know this is ridiculous, but…the security cameras. I was…hoping to look at some of them.” She was usually far more confident than this, but she also knew there was absolutely zero chance of fooling Scrooge McDuck that she had any kind of official reason for doing so. Before he could ask why, she made her confession. “I was hoping there might be footage of Webby.”

Scrooge looked mildly surprised at her request, but then smiled as she explained. “Of course, lass. I’ll have Gyro set up an account for you.” He looked thoughtful. “Might be a good idea, anyway. His team’s been working on an upgrade, and if you’re feeling up to it, I wouldn’t mind having your input. You probably haven’t heard of him yet, but one of our recurring problems is one of those ‘techno guys,’ though he doesn’t seem to be particularly original.”

“That Beaks guy?” Eliza hadn’t gotten to looking him up just yet, but she’d heard Gyro mention him while she’d been in the lab. Gyro’s general sense of disdain had seemed to intensify when discussing him. “If he’s the one-trick pony Gyro claims, he’d exploit the obvious security flaws.” This, she felt confident about; in a world that had progressed without her, she knew _this_. “We could always create some faux root access links. By the time he’s figured out they were red herrings, we’d be onto him.”

Scrooge grinned. “I don’t pretend to understand how any of that works, lass, but that’s exactly why I want you on it.”

* * *

Eliza stayed up half the night looking through security footage. She was aware of the time, but she wasn’t nearly as tired as she should have been. Whether it was mind over matter, insomnia, or her recent “upgrades,” she had no clue. But if it meant more time watching Webby play, laugh, and run through the halls of McDuck Manor, it was worth it.

The video she’d been watching – an adorable tea party with Duckworth, when Webby was five – ended, and the prompt that asked for a date or range of dates popped up again. Eliza had been entering random date ranges, deciding which time in Webby’s life she’d like to look at next. The cameras were motion-activated, fortunately, saving her from searching through hours of empty rooms. Eliza paused, deciding – and then an idea popped into her head. Perhaps the late hour was affecting her judgment, or maybe she was just a glutton for punishment. Taking a deep breath, she typed in the date and time. _01/05/2011, 1900._

Dutifully, her available camera options popped up, and she clicked the foyer first. Being controlled a computer and having no idea that this was a terrible idea, the video began to play, with Eliza and Richard arriving at the door a little past seven, Webby in their arms. The toddler cheerfully went to her grandmother after getting a kiss from each of her parents and waving goodbye. Eliza paused the video, enhancing it to focus on Richard’s face as a tear rolled down her cheek. The way the light reflected off his glasses, that one stupid cowlick in his hair that was always doing its own thing…that look he had about him when he was anxious but playing it cool. The video ended and a menu helpfully offered to play the next video from that night. Eliza clicked it, hoping to see those last few hours before Webby was tucked into bed – before her life changed forever, even if she was too young to truly realize how.

Eliza felt a little odd about continuing to watch after Webby had been put to bed, but there was something comforting about it as the view switched to the kitchen and Duckworth and her mother settled into the kitchen to share a bottle of wine. Their banter had become familiar from the later videos, and Eliza remembered it from her visits. She missed Duckworth – though she had heard he hung around as a ghost, she hadn’t seen him yet. 

_“I did invite Mr. McDuck to join us,” Duckworth commented, refilling his glass, “but he says he’s occupied with work. As usual.”_

_Beakley nodded. “I know grief takes time, but I don’t think it’s healthy for him to lock himself away like this. If that nephew of his wasn’t twice as stubborn as he is, I’d head down to the marina and drag him down here.”_

_Duckworth snorted. “And that is precisely why such a situation takes a delicate, cultured approach, and not your method of problem-solving.”_

_She glared at him. “Listen, jackass, I—” The phone rang, interrupting her retort._

_With a sigh, Duckworth moved to answer it, then held the phone out to her. “Director VonDrake for you.”_

Eliza knew she should stop the video there and close it out, find anything else to watch. But it was the stereotypical “watching a train wreck” scenario, somehow. She was captivated, knowing she wanted absolutely no part of what happened next, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She watched as her mother rose from the table, saying she’d take the call in the next room. Eliza had enough sense – and perhaps psychological self-preservation – not to switch to the dining room feed, but she continued to watch as Duckworth sipped at his wine while waiting for his companion to return. A few minutes later, a scream filled the air, a howl of both rage and grief. It was a sound Eliza had never heard her mother make before and she never wanted to hear it again. She shoved the laptop away from her but didn’t actually stop the video as Duckworth jumped up, racing into the dining room. The system automatically queued the next available footage. Eliza finally reached forward, slamming the laptop lid closed, as she was presented with the image of her mother on her knees, sobbing, the phone discarded beside her on the floor.

It took a few more minutes for Eliza to bring her emotions back down; she knew it had been a bad idea, but she’d gone ahead anyway. She’d done this to herself, though that thought did nothing to help her slow her breathing and ease her heart back out of her stomach and into her chest. That was definitely enough video for tonight. She still wasn’t particularly tired, but she crawled into bed anyway, grabbing the wedding photo her mother had given her off the nightstand. She stared at it, letting the memories it brought back wash over her. That feeling that the world was at their feet and they could do anything, as long as they did it together. Naïve, sentimental fools. She’d always teased Richard about being one.

He’d laugh and cup her cheek in his hand every time. _“Ah, but aren’t those the best kind?”_ He’d been right. They were.

* * *

As much as Scrooge thrived on adventure and the unknown, he enjoyed routine when he was home. It was comforting, particularly when so much had been happening so quickly. He settled into his favorite chair, waiting as he heard Beakley’s heels on the steps as she came by with his tea. 

Rather than the usual two knocks she used to announce herself, Scrooge heard the sudden clatter of the tray and likely everything on it falling and hitting the ground. When nothing followed, no low curse or even a growl of frustration, Scrooge moved to the door, ready to tease her if she thought he hadn’t noticed the commotion. Instead, he found her lying on the floor next to the fallen tea set. “Bentina!”

She was barely conscious, and Scrooge fumbled in his pocket for his phone. Of _course_ it wasn’t there; he never put his phone in the pocket of his bathrobe. It would be on the table next to his chair. Scrooge didn’t want to leave Beakley, but he needed to summon help, so he dashed back into his room to retrieve the phone, then returned to her side. “Can you hear me? What happened?” Her eyes were open, but dazed. At a loss, he tried another tactic, using the most official tone he could muster. “Twenty-Two!” She groaned, her eyes clearly trying to focus on him as he gripped her hand. He dialed the phone, calling for an ambulance as he continued to assess her. The dispatcher’s questions annoyed him, as necessary as they were, and he dropped the phone as soon as he was assured help was on the way. She was fading fast, her gaze becoming more and more distant. “Come on, stay with me, old girl.” She’d nearly decked him the first time he’d used that nickname – though, frankly, he’d have been happy if she managed to do it now. 

Beakley was struggling to breathe; he could hear her wheezing. Scrooge loosened her collar, tucking the brooch she wore into his pocket. They couldn’t risk that getting misplaced in the shuffle. It seemed to help her somewhat, but not enough. He had a good command of basic first aid, but this was out of his league. He needed Donald, who’d probably be awake by now, but he was on his boat. So close, but so far in the moment. “Duckworth!”

The ghost appeared when summoned, immediately looking alarmed at the sight that greeted him. That had to be a good sign, right? He wasn’t expecting her imminent arrival. “How can I help?”

“Get Donald. Tell him to get up here.” Donald had trained as a medic while he’d been in the Navy, and his skills had saved their hides on several occasions back in their original adventuring days. He might not know what was wrong, but he’d be able to do more than Scrooge would. “And, then, if Della’s awake, tell her to corral the children and keep them downstairs.” He didn’t want them to see this.

“Very well, sir.” Duckworth disappeared almost immediately.

Scrooge returned his attention to Beakley. In the brief time of his exchange with Duckworth, she’d lost consciousness and her breathing had become even more labored. When he checked her pulse, it was racing. “Come on, you can fight this!” Whatever “this” was.

It seemed like ages before Donald came running to join them, though it was probably only a few minutes. “Is she breathing?”

“Barely.” Beakley’s condition had been deteriorating rapidly; her breaths were coming in shallow gasps.

“What happened?” Donald asked, fumbling through the first aid kit Duckworth had brought.

“I have no idea! I came out because I heard the tray fall, and she was on the floor.” There didn’t appear to be anything in the immediate vicinity she could have hit her head on when she fell, but her disorientation for the brief time she’d remained conscious had been concerning.

Donald said something Scrooge didn’t quite catch, but it sounded like a curse. He’d found the stethoscope and shook his head as he listened to her lungs. “Air exchange _sucks_.”

“Which means…?” Scrooge asked.

“Her lungs sound terrible!” Donald clarified. “Do we have any oxygen tanks around here?”

No, but they would after this. Scrooge shook his head. “I called an ambulance.”

“Good.” He took Beakley’s glasses, setting them aside; Scrooge hadn’t thought to do that yet. “We gotta optimize her airway ‘til they get here.”

Scrooge nodded, following Donald’s instructions. When the paramedics finally arrived, he left Donald with them as they took over. He hated to leave, but Beakley was in good hands, and he had to check on everyone else. 

Della was in the living room, her eyes wide and What’s going on? “What’s going on?” “Where are the others?”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Scrooge told her. “Where’s everyone else?”

“The boys are still asleep…Eliza, too,” Della replied. “Webby’s awake but she was playing in her room. I didn’t want to worry her so I left her there.”

Scrooge nodded; it was a good instinct. “Beakley’s fallen ill.” He reached out to pat Della’s hand as she gasped in alarm. “Donald’s with her, and the paramedics just got here.” She’d probably missed them; Duckworth had let them in through the back entrance because it was closer to Scrooge’s room. “I don’t know what’s wrong, exactly, but they’ll take good care of her. And she’ll get the best of care at the hospital.” He would guarantee it, just like he had for Della.

“Is she going to be all right?”

Scrooge nodded; he wouldn’t allow himself to consider the alternative. “She’s tough. She’ll beat this.” 

* * *


	16. FOWL Play

* * *

On the list of things Scrooge absolutely didn’t want to do, waking Eliza to tell her what had happened ranked pretty high, but it had to be done. It was the last thing she needed to be added to her plate at this point in her recovery – or ever, really – but life had never made a habit of respecting their need to slow down before.

As neutral as Scrooge tried to keep his expression, Eliza hadn’t trained in observing others for nothing. She frowned as she sat up in bed, assessing him. “What’s wrong?”

Scrooge took her hand, sighing. “Your mother collapsed a few minutes ago.” He held up his free hand as she moved to stand, clearly ready to race to the scene. “She’s on her way to the hospital; Donald’s with her. Della’s getting the kids breakfast now and then she’s going to tell them. I thought it might be best to get them fed before we head over.”

Eliza frowned, but then bit the lower half of her beak and nodded. “Good idea.” She still got up, stepping past him to head out of the bedroom. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes, apparently, though right now, she probably saw it as saving a step. Scrooge followed her, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him, it seemed she’d expected him to. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Scrooge explained. “She was bringing my tea, like usual, and then I heard the tray fall. When I found her, she was half-conscious and struggling to breathe. Had she mentioned anything to you about not feeling well?”

Eliza shook her head. “No…though I doubt she would have said anything if she were. You know how she is.”

Scrooge couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, I know.” It wouldn’t have been the first time Beakley had tried to hide an injury or illness from him. He’d gotten better over the years at noticing when she was off her game, though, just as she had with him. “She seemed fine when I saw her last night.”

“Yeah, same.” Eliza frowned as she approached the kitchen, taking a moment to compose herself. Scrooge could see the visual shift as she slipped into “agent mode,” and as much as he wanted to tell her she didn’t have to, that she could _be_ a worried daughter, he suspected she was doing it for the children. And hadn’t he done the same thing as he’d shepherded them to the kitchen for an early breakfast, deflecting their questions about why he was the one doing it? Before she went into the room, she looked at Scrooge. “I assume you took the tracker?”

Scrooge nodded, taking the brooch out of his pocket to show it to Eliza. “I’m no rookie, lass,” he teased, hoping to make her smile.

She didn’t, but she nodded at him, satisfied, before forcing a smile onto her face as she stepped into the kitchen. 

* * *

Launchpad had become accustomed to odd hours while working for Scrooge McDuck. Late nights? Early mornings? He didn’t mind at all. It was always something exciting. When he brought the limo around this time, though, after getting an urgent call from Scrooge, he hadn’t expected to find four distraught children and three stoic but unsettled adults. Webby was openly crying in her mother’s arms, and though the triplets weren’t in tears, they looked close to it. Huey and Dewey were practically glued to Della’s sides, while Louie had his hood up. Even if he wasn’t clinging to anyone, that plus the subdued look on his face was a sure sign he was upset. Launchpad had never been the smartest guy on the block, but he knew his family, and something bad had clearly happened. It was like when Della had been hurt, except she seemed fine – physically, at least.

There was plenty of room for Scrooge in the backseat with Della, Eliza, and the kids – it was a limo, after all – but he got into the front seat with Launchpad, quietly explaining what was going on. Launchpad winced, his heart going out to the others immediately. He was upset as well – he and Beakley had become good friends, and she always seemed so invincible, like Scrooge – but hearing Webby’s little sniffles, even as her tears slowed, was what really broke his heart. Fortunately, Launchpad tended toward optimism. Scrooge was really worried; he could tell. That alone told Launchpad how serious it was. But if anyone could bounce back, it was Beakley. He was concerned for her, but he had the utmost confidence that she’d be okay. She had to be.

While the kids talked with their mothers, Launchpad subtly rolled the divider up. He didn’t want to put ideas into the children’s heads if he was wrong. But Scrooge’s furrowed brow and hyper-alert posture had Launchpad considering something that hadn’t been mentioned. “Um, is there any chance that some bad guys could have done this to her?” He couldn’t think of anyone at the moment – Glomgold would have gone for Scrooge, and he preferred explosions – but there were always enemies out there.

Scrooge frowned. “I don’t have proof of it, but the thought’s crossed my mind – ach, watch the road!”

Launchpad swerved back into his lane; where had that fire hydrant even come from? “Well, if they did, we’ll catch them.” He was sure of that. No one messed with his family and got away with it.

Scrooge gave him a weary smile. “You’re damn right we will.”

* * *

Donald looked anxious and sad as they approached him in the emergency department waiting room. No one ever wanted to end up here, but it was definitely too soon to be back for Scrooge’s liking. Scrooge sat down next to him, putting a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Any word?”

Donald shook his head. “Not yet. She stopped breathing on the way here. Didn’t lose her pulse, at least. She’s intubated now.”

It wasn’t encouraging, but it was still something she could come back from. After all, Della had been in pretty bad shape when she’d first arrived at the hospital, too, and she was recovering well now. Scrooge nodded. “If she can survive being stabbed in the back alleys of Lincolnshire, she can survive this.” He tried not to dwell on how much younger they’d been during that mission – or the fact that, in this case, they had no idea what was wrong yet.

After what felt like far too long, a doctor came out to update them. Beakley’s condition had stabilized, fortunately, but she was suffering from severe respiratory distress, and they were working to find out why. Not only that, but her heart rate and blood pressure were far higher than they’d expected, even with that. “Her vital signs respond to pain, but we’d expect some kind of neuromuscular reaction as well, and it’s just…absent.”

“Well, keep her out of pain,” Eliza snapped, before rubbing a hand over her face and sighing. “I’m sorry, I’m just…stressed.”

The doctor smiled sympathetically. “That’s understandable. I’ll make sure to keep you updated. We’re running tests and investigating every possibility. However, a lot of her symptoms are consistent with a type of poisoning we usually see from some common household disinfectants. Is there any chance she could have come into significant contact with one of those?”

There was a dark, bitter amusement in Eliza’s expression as she exchanged a look with Scrooge. “Well, she’s a housekeeper, so…yes, I’d say so.”

The doctor nodded. “That does help narrow some of our search down. Thank you.”

After promising to update them soon, the doctor departed, leaving Scrooge with an even deeper sense of unease than he’d had before. Beakley was stable, if still critically ill, but he was becoming more and more concerned with how she’d come to be in this state. They’d promised to return to update the others as soon as they’d spoken with the doctor, but Scrooge paused in the consult room, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the children – or anyone else, really. At least not until he was sure. He closed the door to the small room, analyzing Eliza’s expression. She’d mostly taken after her father, physically, but the carefully concealed fury in her eyes came straight from her mother. “You suspect foul play, don’t you?”

Eliza’s jaw clenched as she nodded slowly. “I suspect _FOWL_ play. I don’t care how ‘common’ those disinfectants might be. Mama wouldn’t be that careless. Even if it was just through contact.”

“I agree.” Scrooge nodded, moving closer to put a hand on her shoulder. “Let them run their tests. It might do some of the legwork for us, convince anyone that’s watching that we think this is an accident.” He’d already had Della set aside anything that had been out in the kitchen before making breakfast for the children, so they could test it later if necessary. He’d have Gyro and Fenton review the security logs, in case anything had gotten past the system somehow. If this was the attempt on Beakley’s life he was beginning to think it was, they’d figure it out. As much as Scrooge knew they had an ally in Officer Cabrera, there was no use in involving the police until there was some kind of evidence. What would they have said, that a shadow organization devoted to controlling the world’s economy through larceny was probably involved? Even given the strange things that regularly happened in Duckburg, that would have sounded laughable without proof. For once, he actually didn’t think Black Heron was the primary force behind this. She was usually his prime suspect if the situation involved Beakley; it was disturbing, how obsessed she was, really. Black Heron, however, was as egomaniacal as she was dangerous, and she usually left some kind of calling card. “Once we find out who did this and how, we’ll nail them.”

* * *

No one had asked her to prove her worth as a mother since she’d come home, but Eliza still felt the need to. And, so, in the worst way possible, the universe had provided an opportunity. Comfort her scared kid while trying to figure out how to comfort herself? She supposed she’d done all right with that. Webby seemed calmer now, if still upset – but they all were, really.

Eliza needed answers. That was how she was managing to stay level-headed, rather than give in to the emotional breakdown that threatened her with every shaky breath. She’d always been solution driven. And there seemed to be a mutual agreement among the assembled family – including the children – that literally none of them felt her mother’s illness was due to an _accidental_ poisoning. They’d kept up appearances, of course, but with the way the one in the hat – Huey, right? – was avidly researching _other_ substances those chemicals were found in and the quiet determination that had settled over Webby, they weren’t buying it. Scrooge had been right; it was best to pretend as if they suspected nothing else while they stealthily unraveled the mystery.

Something about this felt familiar, somehow, but Eliza couldn’t place it. She’d wracked her memories trying to figure out what it was, something about cresols and the symptoms…but neither medicine nor organic poisons had ever been her specialty. There was a missing piece and it was infinitely frustrating that she couldn’t find it. Was she too upset or was it part of the damage to her brain? Her most important memories were intact, fortunately, but there were little things Eliza found she was missing, like the name of one of the villages she and her mother had been living in when she was eight years old. They’d only lived there for four months; it wasn’t that important. But she had always _known_ it when listing off the many places she’d lived in her life, and for some reason it had just been…gone. (It was Llangynidr, in Wales, but she’d had to ask her mother. And she definitely wouldn’t be able to spell it anymore without looking.)

Fenton had mentioned that might happen sometimes; the nanites had repaired almost everything, but there were some synapses in the lesser-used parts of her brain, especially the memory centers, that failed to respond. Perhaps she should consider herself lucky to have what she did. After all, she’d been damaged enough to be considered a lost cause until the nanites had been introduced, according to the notes. But this could be important. Eliza sighed. She didn’t want to put any of this on the children, but Huey appeared to find the same sort of comfort in answers as she did; he’d certainly been calmer since he started researching. As long as he was at it, maybe it could help both of them. “Anything good?”

Huey shook his head. “No. Most poison control calls are for different compounds that don’t match the symptoms. Or antifreeze, which definitely doesn’t fit.”

“What about cresols?” Eliza asked, as casually as possible.

Huey quickly ran the search, then looked up at her, his eyes widening. “There’s a derivative that’s used in common household disinfectants.”

Bingo. So it was relevant, at least somehow. “Symptoms?” She could have looked herself at this point, but she hadn’t gotten a smartphone yet, and she hadn’t brought her laptop to the hospital. Huey’s fingers danced across the phone screen, and he shoved it at her when he looked at the results, bouncing a little. He didn’t look happy, exactly, but definitely convicted. They were onto something. There on the screen was an article about cresol poisoning related to cleaning products, and the primary problem? Acute respiratory distress. Eliza squeezed Huey’s shoulder. “Good work, kid. I’ll mention it to the doctors if they don’t bring it up.” It didn’t help her with the missing piece of the puzzle, but it confirmed she was on the right path and this wasn’t some mental red herring.

Webby crawled back into her lap a few moments later, as they continued to wait, and Eliza wrapped her arms around her daughter, kissing Webby’s head. “She’ll be settled in a room soon, they said. Then we can see her.” She wasn’t sure if she was reassuring Webby or herself.

Webby rested her head on Eliza’s chest and looked up at her as she was held. “And we’re going to get rid of whatever caused this accident, huh?” Her tone was earnest, as if she truly believed this was some terrible mistake, but there was a vicious anger in her eyes. 

_Oh, you **have** been trained well._ Of course she had; they’d both learned from the best. Eliza stroked Webby’s hair, nodding as if she’d just been asked if the sky was blue. “Of course we will, darling.”

* * *

Webby had thought she’d known what to expect when saw her grandmother, after their experiences with Della’s accident. As close as she’d gotten to Della, though, there was something different when it was her _Granny_. And when someone had quite possibly been trying to hurt her on purpose. This was even scarier than the team-up when Black Heron had gone after them. She’d been very clear in her motives, and Webby had been running on sheer excitement and adrenaline. One of her dreams had been coming true, as dangerous as it was. This was no dream; it was a nightmare.

At least she had her mother. The thrill hadn’t worn off from that, yet, and maybe that was helping things not seem completely horrible. Webby felt a little guilty for thinking that, somehow, this situation was better for that – there was nothing good about it – but what would it had been like if her mom were still gone? She’d still have had Della, Donald, and Scrooge, of course, plus the boys, but as dearly as she loved her found family, for a long time, her Granny had been the only biological family Webby had. That was important too, in its own way. At least to her, when there was such love between them. And…Scrooge was the only one of the extended family who really thought like a spy at all, the way Webby had been encouraged to since the time she was old enough to problem-solve. Even Louie and Della, with their ability to see the angles, didn’t naturally approach an issue like that. Eliza _did_ , and Webby didn’t have to backtrack to explain her thought process nearly as often. Especially now.

There was a computer in the room, with the hospital’s charting system on it, and Webby noticed that the nurse had minimized the screen but not logged out. It would time out soon, probably, but not soon enough to stop Webby. She glanced up at Eliza, who nodded with a gentle smile. Webby glanced around to see if anyone in the hallway was watching and trotted over to the computer.

“Now, honey, don’t play with that,” Eliza called to her, her tone light and airy. “There aren’t any games on it.”

Webby nodded, pretending to comply – albeit slowly – as she minimized the screen again, but not after she’d glanced at it long enough to see what she was looking for. She returned to her mother’s lap. “The labs aren’t back yet.” She didn’t think the doctors were lying to them, by any means, but their need for answers was moving faster than the hospital staff’s workflow. And if the doctors suspected anything they hadn’t wanted to mention until they were sure… “Only the emergency room note was there.”

“Anything new?”

“Not really.” Webby was reassured, at least, that the doctors weren’t thinking anything even worse than what they’d already said. Huey’s research had indicated all of those things were totally survivable if treated in time. Her thoughts wandered back to the neuromuscular oddities they’d mentioned, though – Eliza had brought it up it when relaying the doctor’s report but hadn’t really known how to explain it any more than the doctors had. It reminded Webby of a tactic she’d read about once, though, using a drug called succinylcholine to paralyze murder victims. Their muscles stopped responding within a minute of the dose and they basically suffocated. Plus, it was hard to trace. Webby had been nine at the time, and impressed with the tale of the “perfect murder,” but she’d also found “succinylcholine” very fun to say repeatedly. “At least we know it’s not succinylcholine.” It was still a little fun to say, even if Webby could find no joy in the circumstances. “That works way faster.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t fit; succs would be out of her system by now…” Eliza murmured, but then she made a noise Webby couldn’t quite describe. It was almost like a mix between a gasp and an exclamation, and Webby gasped herself as her mother pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “Webby, you’re a _genius_.”

“I am?” Webby frowned. She wasn’t sure what she’d discovered; she’d only ruled something out. “It’s still not succinylcholine, right?”

“No, it’s not,” Eliza confirmed, “but I think I know what it might be now.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brb, deleting my browser history after the research for this chapter... ;)


	17. The Familiar Taste of Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! It has been far too long since I updated this story, and I apologize for that. My writing time became very limited once I started my new job at the beginning of November, especially since most weeks I work 48-60 hours. Hopefully, it won't be that wild for too much longer, but bills gotta be paid. And my muse focused what it was going to focus on during the writing time I did have. I definitely haven't given up on this story, or the plans I have for it. Thank you _so_ much for all the kudos, comments, and support; I greatly appreciate it, and I'm going to try to go back to respond to all the comments as I get time.
> 
> I've been asked what continuing DT17 canon I'm going to include in this, since the series resumed while I've been writing this. Basically, what I want. The story is basically AU at this point, and I'm fine with that, since it gives me the liberty to pick and choose how I have certain arcs go down. Scrooge still definitely raised the twins for the purposes of this 'verse, and the reveal that Bradford is running F.O.W.L. hasn't happened yet. Also, I didn't include the periods between the acronym's letters like I have with S.H.U.S.H. in early chapters, so I've left in like that (with certain exceptions) for stylistic consistency.

* * *

Despite the impression pop culture gave of spies, they did not know how to do literally everything. Sure, there were many opportunities to acquire unique skills outside one’s area of expertise, but there was usually a mission-related reason. One thing any agent worth their salt _was_ skilled at, however, was knowing how to use available resources. Just because Eliza didn’t know anything about drawing blood samples didn’t mean that she couldn’t find someone who did.

The McDuck clan had been spending the majority of their time in the ICU waiting room, and while Eliza appreciated the support, that did make it a little harder to get any of them alone without looking obvious about it. When Donald decided to get some more coffee from the cafeteria, Eliza seized the opportunity, falling in step bedside him in the hallway. 

Donald glanced at her, offering a sympathetic smile. “Need a few minutes away?”

“Something like that,” Eliza murmured, glancing around at the people in the immediate vicinity. Most of them were medical staff, just going about their day and unlikely to be listening, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance that someone was. At Donald’s raised eyebrow, she simply nodded to the elevator ahead – which, ironically enough, had a sign posted inside that reminded staff to be mindful of anyone who might overhear their conversations about patients. Once the elevator doors slid shut, she flashed Donald a cheery, if fake, smile. “I need a favor, and I need you not to ask too many questions.”

Donald cocked his head, his expression warily. “How many is too many?”

Eliza shrugged. “Depends on the questions.” They didn’t have too long alone; someone could get onto the elevator at any point, so she continued straight to the point. “You were a medic. Do you know how to draw blood?”

“It’s been a while, but…” Donald frowned. “Why?”

Eliza pulled the small lab collection kit she’d swiped from a tech’s cart out of her pocket, pressing it into Donald’s hand. “I need you to get a sample from my mother and get it back to me. Preferably without getting caught.” 

Donald blinked, but he slipped the kit into the pocket of his shirt. “Do I want to know where you got that?”

Eliza held a hand up. “Too many questions. I promise, I’ll explain everything soon if I’m right about this.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Donald asked.

“I’ll still explain, but I’ll be in a worse mood.” Eliza wasn’t willing to say too much until her suspicions were confirmed, both to avoid getting the family’s hopes up and because she honestly wasn’t sure where they’d go from there. She’d have a confirmed cause for her mother’s illness, but they’d still have to find the source. “And, no, this isn’t the kind of test I could ask the doctors to run.” She snorted in amusement as Donald closed his beak; she’d suspected he was about to question that. “Listen, you and I both know you know more about stealth than you’re willing to let on.” The Duck Avenger might have been retired, but S.H.U.S.H. was well aware of his identity; they kept tabs on all known superheroes, in case an alliance became necessary at some point. At his surprised look, she smiled and brought a finger to her beak. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She lightened her tone, teasing him, but also wanting to be sure he was in on their little mission. “Can you keep mine?”

Donald nodded and shook her hand, the corners of his beak curling upward. “I doubt anyone would understand if I told them anyway.”

* * *

Eliza had stayed on the elevator and returned to the ICU floor after Donald got out; she was pretty sure if she had any more caffeine today, she’d start vibrating. She was exhausted, but there was no time to rest; her mother’s life depended on following up on her hunch. Besides, what good were her cybernetic “upgrades” for if they didn’t help her push past her natural limits? She didn’t want to test the upper limits of that theory, but she was only at a little over twenty-four hours without sleep, and she’d certainly gone longer before. It wasn’t ideal, but it was necessary.

This was FOWL’s handiwork; Eliza had no doubt about it. Eliza had learned that the organization was thought to have been eliminated not long after her supposed death, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Either that, or they’d reformed somehow. Her mother was an obvious target; her identity had been compromised several years ago. This attack wasn’t Black Heron’s style – she’d have claimed credit by now – but she was hardly the only enemy Beakley had made over the years. The biggest question was how the assailant had breached mansion security without disabling the system or setting off any alerts, but there had been a mole inside S.H.U.S.H. for a long time and their identity had never been determined. They’d disappeared as quickly as they came, leaving chaos in their wake. It could be the same person – or someone else, someone whose presence wouldn’t have been questioned.

Webby had been asleep when Eliza left her mother’s bedside to catch up with Donald. When Eliza returned, Webby still had the blanket her mother had draped over her around her shoulders, but she was awake and sketching something in her notepad. She looked up as Eliza approached. “I’m making a list of suspects. I didn’t get very far, though.”

It was both adorable and startling how keen Webby’s investigative skills were. Eliza accepted the book as Webby passed it to her, glancing over the list of names that Webby had begun to illustrate. The top four were crossed off, with Webby’s reasons for ruling them out squeezed into the margins.

_~~Beagle Boys~~ ->_ _not smart enough_

_~~Black Heron~~ -> _ _too subtle for her_

_~~Magica~~ -> too mundane_

_~~Glomgold~~ -> _ _no bombs, only cares about Uncle Scrooge_

_Lil’ Bulb (no motive but unpredictable)_

_Buzzard Brothers (motive ??? but hate everyone)_

_FOWL (but who?)_

FOWL was circled multiple times and Eliza nodded. “You got far enough.” She glanced at the list again, looking at Webby’s drawing of a lightbulb with tiny arms and legs. She thought she might have seen something similar in the McDuck Enterprises lab, but she had been too focused on getting back to her family to take much else in. “Have you really had problems with a killer lightbulb?” It wouldn’t have been the most unbelievable thing she’d heard in the last few days.

Webby shrugged. “Gyro says he’s just wildly misunderstood. He does have a temper, though.”

Eliza nodded; “wildly misunderstood” seemed to be an apt description of a lot of Gyro’s inventions. Returning her focus to the matter at hand, though, she handed Webby’s notebook back and sat down beside her. “I do think it’s FOWL. They’re either back or they never left.” She suspected the former was more accurate; while hadn’t had a chance to read them in their entirety, the files regarding her resurrection seemed to indicate that the organization had survived by publicly accepting defeat and then retreating to hide in the shadows. “I don’t understand _this_ , though.” She shook her head. FOWL had never shied away from murder when they found it necessary, but it was usually in the service of something else, a grander objective. “Unless they were trying to get her out of the way before something bigger…”

Webby’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Eliza admitted. There were a lot of possibilities, too many for her liking. They wanted to rule the world by stealing its treasures; their primary mission had never been a secret. Did they have a new plan, something they couldn’t risk being foiled? The only “former” FOWL agent they’d seen any recent public activity from was Black Heron. It didn’t seem likely she was involved in _this_ attack, but perhaps her last escapade would provide clues as to what FOWL might be up to. Eliza had originally set the file aside to read later, as it had been interesting but not immediately relevant; she’d only skimmed the parts that Webby had been involved in. “When you were in Black Heron’s lab, was there anything besides the bounce serum in the works?” Most children wouldn’t have paid attention to anything but the issue in front of them…but Webby wasn’t most children.

Webby shook her head. “I didn’t see anything, but we didn’t have much time to look around. We have a sample, still. It’s in the Other Bin.”

Eliza doubted the serum itself had anything to do with their current situation, though FOWL might still want it. “Does she know we have it?”

“Probably, but she was a little…occupied.” Webby almost smiled, but it quickly morphed into a frown. “Do you think she’s trying to get it back?”

Generally, Black Heron always tried to get back anything stolen from her eventually, but Eliza didn’t think FOWL would bother taking her mother down if that was their only objective. “No…not right now, anyway. It’s tied to the priests of Castle Dunwyn, so it has historical relevance, but there just aren’t a lot of practical applications.” Despite what Black Heron seemed to think, bouncing villains were not exactly a terrifying proposition.

The smile crept back onto Webby’s face. “It was kind of fun while before it wore off.” As she glanced back at her grandmother, though, her smile disappeared again. “Granny didn’t seem to like it as much, though.”

Eliza nodded; she’d gotten the same impression when she heard the story of the original adventure. “Yeah, she’s never cared for being off-balance.” She wrung her hands together as she thought, an anxious habit she’d never quite been able to break. “Assuming Heron’s still with FOWL – and I can’t think of any reason she wouldn’t be, even if they’ve been inactive – that whole situation might have been a test run.”

“What, to see if she and Uncle Scrooge were still as much of a threat?” Webby asked.

“Maybe.” Eliza wasn’t committed to the theory, but she wasn’t willing to rule it out entirely, not yet. “It was a few months after Scrooge started adventuring again, right?” At Webby’s nod, she continued. “I don’t know; I could be wrong. Maybe Black Heron was just doing her own thing; it wouldn’t be the first time. But if FOWL _was_ considering coming out of hiding, with both Scrooge and Mama ‘retired,’ and S.H.U.S.H. focused on other organized crime…”

“They’d want to see who responded if Black Heron made a move!” Webby picked up on Eliza’s train of thought right away. “But Uncle Scrooge didn’t even contact S.H.U.S.H. until after…”

“And Mama probably made him.” Eliza couldn’t help but chuckle. “She always said that was his biggest weakness, going off half-cocked without backup and thinking he could handle it. And he usually tried to make her do the mission reports…” Scrooge hadn’t really gotten more careful about his adventures until Donald and Della had started joining him…and even then, he wasn’t always known for being the voice of reason. Time – and, no doubt, Della’s disappearance – had smoothed his rough edges somewhat, but old habits died hard. But, still, if FOWL planned to test the waters, see if their old foes were still able to put up a fight, that would have been a good way to do it. And when they’d not only responded, but given Black Heron a good thrashing…they’d have been back on FOWL’s threat list, if they ever came off it. “I don’t know. I may be way off-base. I’m just trying to look at every angle.”

Webby nodded, moving to crawl into Eliza’s lap and cuddle up to her. “I know.” Her expression lit up after a moment, though. “How secret do we have to keep this?”

Eliza hadn’t exactly gotten as far as considering a security level for her musings. “I’m not sure yet…why?”

Webby smiled up at her. “Because if we’re looking for angles, there’s definitely someone we should be talking to.”

“Oh, Della?” That was one of her gifts, as Eliza recalled. And if they were going to use their available resources – plus, prepare for any further attacks – it was a good idea to consult her. “You’re right. We should probably bring her in.”

“And Louie,” Webby added. “He’s not really the _evil_ triplet, but he definitely knows how to think deviously.”

Eliza wasn’t sure what that meant, but she supposed she’d find out. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, though, to have someone on board who could think like FOWL without being aligned with them. “Okay, so let’s do this.”

* * *

Before conferring with Della and Louie, however, Eliza needed to get the blood sample Donald had obtained for her to the lab. She was reluctant to leave the hospital for any length of time, but it wasn’t a task she could delegate; her access codes would be necessary to link the lab’s database to S.H.U.S.H.’s library. Scrooge was keeping an eye on things at the hospital, though, and she trusted that he would update her if anything changed.

“All right, geniuses,” Eliza announced as she walked into the underwater lab, “time to prove your fancy toys do everything you claim they can.” She didn’t doubt the technology, really, but she was beyond tired and most of her filters were gone.

Fenton looked up from his work, waving cheerfully. “Hi, Eliza! How can we help you?”

Gyro, on the other hand, gave her a disdainful look as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have you know that, while we may not be your precious spy agency, this lab’s technology is far superior to anything—”

Eliza held up a hand, rolling her eyes. “Save it, Gearloose. Just point me in the direction of your analyzer and give me a spare computer; we’ll call it even.”

“Even?” Gyro squawked, while Fenton hopped up to pull a chair over to one of the nearby terminals, gesturing for Eliza to sit. “Since when do I owe _you_ any favors?”

Eliza spared Fenton a grateful smile before glancing back at Gyro. “Listen, I’ve been awake for almost thirty hours and my mother’s life is literally on the line. Forgive me if I’m a little bitchier than usual.”

Gyro didn’t appear to be mollified, but he did back off, which was good enough for Eliza. She got to work, finding the files in the S.H.U.S.H. database she needed and adding them to the lab’s reference library while the analyzer got to work on the blood sample. She glanced up, hearing a quiet squeaking sound, and saw a lightbulb with mechanical arms and legs watching her. That must have been the one Webby had been talking about, and Eliza frowned at it. “I’m watching you, bub.”

The little bulb shook a fist at her, glowing red briefly before Gyro moved in to scoop it up and let it sit on his shoulder. “Lil’ Bulb is _not_ evil.”

“Let me guess – wildly misunderstood?” Eliza guessed. Gyro’s look of surprise was well worth it. Returning her attention to the computer screen, Eliza browsed through the equipment specifications, nodding in satisfaction as she confirmed the lab would be able to replicate the antidote to the poison she suspected had been used. Her mind was still spinning however; why would FOWL use that, when there had been a known cure for some time? Did they hope the true cause of their victim’s condition would be missed – as it nearly had been – until it was too late? Or were they sending a message?

 _Sending a message…_ Eliza hadn’t done much research into the specifics of her own murder; as much as she wanted to piece together what had gone wrong that night, the pain of losing Richard was too fresh. She’d been emotionally overwhelmed before getting too far. But one thing she had seen was an internal memo, written by her mother after the investigation had been completed. As long as she was in S.H.U.S.H.’s system, she called it up. 

_For obvious reasons, I am far too close to this case to be objective. However, nothing I have found indicates our agents are in any way working for F.O.W.L. With so much evidence having been destroyed, we may never know exactly what went wrong. However, even in my partial retirement, I have been working to dismantle F.O.W.L. and uncover the identity of the mole within our own organization. We are closer to this goal than we have ever been and they know that. I fear the deaths of my daughter and her husband were meant to send me a message, but it would be a disservice to their memories to give up now._

Sighing, Eliza closed the file. It hadn’t been any easier to read the second time; she’d known FOWL had tried to imply that she and Richard had been double agents and also that S.H.U.S.H. had never seriously believed it. But was _this_ murder attempt meant to warn her and possibly the others away? And if it was, from _what_? Until recently, they hadn’t considered FOWL an active threat. It certainly wouldn’t have been out of character for Black Heron to attack someone to announce FOWL’s return, but she had been suspiciously quiet. Was someone _keeping_ her quiet? That had never been particularly effective in the past, which only strengthened Eliza’s theory that Black Heron wasn’t involved this time. It also wouldn’t have been beneath her to claim credit anyway…did she even know?

A few moments later, Fenton’s voice startled Eliza. “I’m sorry, what?”

Fenton gave her a kind smile. “I was asking if you needed any help. I know you’re going through a lot, and one scientist to another…I’m happy to do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said genuinely, “but whether anyone can do anything to help really depends on what I find in this sample. And I suppose you could call me a hacker, but I’ve never really considered myself a scientist.” She looked down at her bionic hand, flexing her fingers. “A scientific experiment, maybe…”

“I don’t see you that way,” Fenton insisted. “I’ll revise it then…one _person_ to another. Do you mind if I ask what you’re looking for?”

Eliza couldn’t help but warm to him; he was so earnest. And, no matter what the lab results revealed, maybe it _would_ help to have another perspective; Fenton certainly seemed to be good at thinking outside the box. “Do you know anything about succinylcholine or cresols?”

Fenton frowned thoughtfully. “Cresols…they’re phenol derivatives. Used mostly in photographic developing and explosives, some household cleaners. And succinylcholine – it’s a paralytic, right?”

“Right,” Eliza confirmed. She figured he must have had at least a basic knowledge of the components, but she didn’t want to assume. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard about FOWL, but you’re a superhero type – they’re the bad guys. The most organized of organized crime. They created a poison about a decade ago that combined the physiological damage of cresol poisoning with the effects of succinylcholine, then threw in a couple of compounds that would slow the synthetic succinylcholine way down. It killed one of my first partners in the field.” That was another thing that made her wonder if it was a personal message. “I still don’t know what they call it, but our scientists ended up naming it ‘succinylcholine di-something or other…’” It was another infuriating memory gap, and she could have called it up with a few keystrokes, but she didn’t want to interrupt the explanation. “They named it after the most significant compounds in the mixture…and also so they could call it ‘Succs2BU’ for short.” Despite the situation, she laughed softly. “Typical S.H.U.S.H. dark humor.”

Fenton nodded, though he did smile at the poison’s nickname. “And you think this is what’s making your mother so sick?”

“I’m sure of it.” Eliza shook her head, sighing. “The thing is, they took down a few agents using it, then generally gave up once we created an effective antidote. The respiratory arrest is the most dangerous factor, initially, but if we were able to either get an agent the antidote in time or keep them alive until we could get it to them…it wasn’t the threat it used to be.”

“So why use it now?” Fenton asked. “Were they hoping everyone had forgotten about it?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” Eliza said. “Maybe they were banking on that, or the fact that most doctors would look at the blood results and assume it was from household cleaners and hope we bought it…” Except FOWL should have known they weren’t that naïve. “I also can’t help but wonder if they were trying to take her down while they planned something else and did it this way to make a point.” She turned around to find an adorable parrot chick watching her and jumped. Kids had a funny way of doing that, sneaking up on even the most observant of individuals – and her observation skills had definitely been on the back burner, between her exhaustion and the conversation she was having with Fenton. Plus, she hadn’t known there was a kid in the lab. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi!” the boy announced. “I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy.”

It wasn’t the strangest introduction she’d ever heard, but it definitely had Eliza raising an eyebrow. Frankly, at this point, she was beginning to question her own reality. “I’m Eliza…mostly real.”

“You’re Webby’s mother, right?” Boyd asked.

So the kid knew Webby…that probably explained his interest in her. “Yes.”

Boyd smiled. “Huey told me about you.” His expression turned shy. “I really like your arm.”

“Oh.” Eliza supposed it wasn’t surprising that the little guy would have found it exciting; as much as she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it, the kids seemed to love it. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome! It was nice meeting you.” The boy waved before scampering off after Gyro, and though Eliza wasn’t in the mood for distractions otherwise, at least he was cute.

“Who’s kid was that?” Eliza asked.

“Oh, Boyd?” Fenton replied. “Well, he technically lives with the Drake family, but Gyro built him years ago in Tokyolk…”

Eliza wouldn’t have figured Gyro for the parental type…but maybe he was, in his own way. Especially with as defensive as he was of his inventions. And that explained the “definitely real” comment – and probably also his being drawn to her arm. “I suppose I’m going to have to get used to standing out in a crowd,” she commented, looking at her arm. It wasn’t ideal for a career in espionage, but she also hadn’t decided what she was going to do about going back to work yet.

Fenton smiled. “I could probably create a synthetic skin, if it bothers you. I can’t guarantee the texture of the feathers would be a perfect match, but I could at least get the shade and the look down.”

Well, there was one potential solution. “That’d be nice, actually. Thanks.” Still, there were bigger priorities. “But first we need to sort out this mess.”

* * *

It had been a long time since Scrooge had felt this helpless, particularly where his best friend was concerned, and he hated that. As committed as he was to finding out who’d done this to Beakley and seeking revenge, he couldn’t stand to see her looking so _sick_. They’d been through so much that should have killed them and survived, often without a scratch. And while Beakley had become more selective with her field missions after Phillip died, vowing she would not let FOWL make an orphan of her daughter, she had still faced down danger with her usual grim determination.

Knowing they were keeping Beakley sedated so she would tolerate the ventilator that was keeping her alive was a small comfort. It might have been a natural instinct, but even unconscious, she was willing to fight. And if Eliza’s suspicions were correct, this was an enemy they knew all too well. They’d won against FOWL before; they could do it again. Scrooge had convinced Webby to head down to the cafeteria with the triplets to get some lunch while her mother was taking care of things at the lab, so Scrooge was alone with Beakley for the moment. He allowed himself a rare moment of open affection, taking her hand and squeezing it. From the beginning, they’d both clicked and clashed; he wouldn’t have had it any other way. But a deep, platonic love had developed between them over the years and the thought of losing her terrified him. It had been devastating when Duckworth died, but at least they’d had each other to lean on. Who would he turn to if he found himself mourning her? He had his family back, and he was unspeakably grateful for that, but even they didn’t know him (and his demons) as well as she did.

“You’re scaring the hell out of me, you know that?” he asked, giving her hand another quick squeeze before releasing it. “This is even worse than ’91. At least I could _pretend_ you were all right then.” 

Beakley had disappeared unexpectedly in the summer of 1991, and she’d been gone for several months. FOWL hadn’t immediately demanded a ransom or even left any clues about her capture, which was rare for them, but Scrooge and Ludwig had known they were behind it all the same. They’d searched endlessly, fearing the worst but hoping for the best. Eliza had been staying with Scrooge while her mother had gone on what was supposed to have been a routine mission, and he’d tried to keep things under wraps for her sake, at least until they had something to tell her. Beakley hadn’t raised her daughter to be observant of the world around her for nothing, however, and the nine-year-old had soon confronted him.

_“Where’s my mother?” Eliza asked, drawing herself up to her full height. She was outwardly calm, but Scrooge could tell the girl was upset._

_“She’s been delayed,” Scrooge said carefully. He didn’t want to lie to her, not directly, but what could he tell her? That Beakley had disappeared off the face of the planet – and, for once, FOWL wasn’t claiming credit? “You know that’s happened before. Sometimes these things don’t as smoothly as they think we will.”_

_“She always calls,” Eliza insisted. “Where is she?”_

_“I’m sure she’s fine.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly; he was worried, but he believed in Beakley’s ability to extract herself from nearly any mess, eventually._

_“You’re lying,” Eliza insisted, and it was with a dark conviction Scrooge had never heard when his niece or nephew occasionally accused him of the same. She blinked furiously, clearly trying not to cry, but she stood firmly, meeting his gaze._

_Scrooge sighed. He had wanted to wait until he had more information – any information, really – but he owed it to both Beakley and her daughter to be honest. He guided Eliza to the couch, sitting down opposite her. “I don’t mean to. It’s only that…your mum wouldn’t want you to worry. I do believe she’ll be fine and come back home to you just as soon as she’s able, but…the truth is, we don’t know where she is right now.”_

_Eliza rolled her eyes. “She literally wears a tracking device; how can you **not** know?”_

_If only it had been that easy. Scrooge reached into his pocket, taking out the brooch Beakley almost always wore. “This was found at her last known location.” He let Eliza take it, moving closer as tears filled the little girl’s eyes. “I promise, Eliza, we’re going to do everything we can to find her. And she’d never give up on coming home to you.”_

That same brooch was in his pocket now, and he reached in, running his fingers over the smooth aventurine gem. Beakley had come home that time, looking worse for the wear and with no memory of anything that had happened between being cornered during her mission in Odesa and fighting her way out of a FOWL base in Moscow. She took several weeks’ leave to recover, then returned to S.H.U.S.H. to take over as director while Ludwig went on sabbatical. As far as Scrooge knew, she had never regained any memory of those lost months, but even if she had, she had made it clear that it was not a subject she wanted to discuss. There were very few topics they labelled off-limits – and, outside of dire circumstances, they had a mutual respect for the ones that were. He’d half-hoped even mentioning the year would get a reaction out of her, but there was nothing, not even a change in her heart rate. But she _was_ heavily sedated. Plus, with the poison still in her system, who knew what to expect? Scrooge hated uncertainty, almost as much as he hated the helplessness. He was a man of action – and though they would get there soon enough, there was nothing to be done right now.

When his phone rang, he answered it instantly. It was Eliza, and there was the same angry certainty in her tone that he’d heard from her as a little girl, confronting him about her mother’s whereabouts. At least this time it wasn’t directed at him. “It’s definitely the same stuff. We’re synthesizing the antidote now; I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

* * *


End file.
